PART ONE

 ***********************

 

 PHOENIX BURNING

 

 by Yahtzee

 

 Yahtzee63@aol.com

 

 

***********************

 

 Chapter Six

 

"London 2353"

 

 

For the first time since her resurrection -- no, since long before that, back before her mom got sick -- Buffy awoke without the heaviness of depression weighing her down. She felt almost as much fear and amger as anticipation, but even the negative energy counted as energy, and it jolted her with the power she'd been lacking.

 

As she padded into the bathroom for her morning shower, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Buffy gasped, shocked by her own reflection; her hair was so dirty, her face so pale. Her anguish had left its mark on her, and even if her spirits had improved somewhat, her body hadn't quite caught up. "No wonder Angel got wigged," Buffy muttered as she began to soap up.

 

She knew, of course, that her appearance hadn't made one damn bit of difference in his reaction. But Buffy couldn't quite help wishing she'd made her first entrance in 350 years looking a little less scary.

 

Xiaoting and Agatha were both excited abou the upcoming change in scenery; Agatha had everything packed up in a neat little bundle before Buffy even woke up, and Xiaoting was humming as she flitted around, getting ready in a far more disorganized fashion. Noor seemed more resigned than anything else, and Sumiko was packing just to copy the others, which Buffy thought must get awfully tiresome after a while.

 

Buffy tried to give Sumiko a sympathetic smile or two, and once or twice made a move to help her fold up clothes. But Sumiko pulled away. Apparently Buffy's association with Angel was too great a betrayal to forgive.

 

If only I could explain, Buffy thought. Then again, would it really make a difference? There are gonna be a lot of people who can't handle it, even though they do know the full story. There always were.

 

When their Watchers arrived, Xiaoting practically bounded forward. "Are we ready to go?"

 

"Certainly," her Watcher said with a maternal chuckle. "We'll get you girls back down to the transport."

 

"I don't think so," Buffy said.

 

They all turned to stare at her; Frances, in particular, looked pained. After a moment, Frances said, "You don't mean to come to the Keep at all? You're refusing to help?"

 

"And the Olympic gold medalist for the high jump to conclusions is Frances Keeling," Buffy said. "I just meant -- I'd like to walk."

 

She hadn't known she was going to say that until it popped out. No sooner had she spoken, though, Buffy knew that was exactly what she needed. To be free, on her own, just for a few minutes. And to be able to look at this caved-in world on her own terms.

 

 

 

Frances gave her an awkward smile. "It's three miles, Buffy. And it's rather uncertain out there --"

 

"I thought I was supposed to be dealing with that," Buffy said. "Not avoiding it. I have to get to know this place, right? I don't want to live in an ivory tower." She remembered the Watchers' Keep and frowned. "Except, you know, in the literal sense."

 

Sumiko's Watcher, apparently desperate to speak to a Slayer who might understand him, broke in, "Well, we don't allow solo patrols anymore. Haven't for more than a century. You'll have to have someone with you."

 

"This isn't a patrol," Buffy said through clenched teeth. "This is a walk. Am I allowed to take walks? Because the whole distinction between doing my job and being a prisoner seems smaller all the time."

 

"Of course you're allowed to go for a walk, Buffy," Frances said. "The rest of you go on. I would like to speak with Buffy for a moment."

 

The others wandered out, Xiaoting making a face behind Frances' back as she went. Buffy bit her lip not to smile.

 

When they were alone, Frances took a deep breath and began speaking in a measured, rehearsed tone. "Buffy, I realize how shocking all of this has been for you. And the situation you are attempting to absorb is complex. But I do wish you would consider, for a moment, that perhaps not everyone is attempting to harm you. This project was begun for the highest motives and only after due consideration, and --"

 

"Can it," Buffy said. "You can talk all you want about high motives, but the fact is, you treated us like your dirty little secret until yesterday. You didn't tell them the truth, and you didn't tell me the truth."

 

"Buffy, I told you as much as I knew," Frances said, more honestly. "I've been given access to Rupert Giles' full records now. I've not had time to read them all, but -- ah, some of the peculiarities you mentioned do seem to show up."

 

"I knew Giles couldn't resist," Buffy said. "But hey, okay, let's say I'm cool with all this. You, Frances, did not lie to me, Buffy. But what about Markwith?"

 

"You heard him last night, Buffy --"

 

"That's just his reason for lying to me," Buffy said. "I thought about it a lot last night, and you know what I couldn't come up with? His reason for lying to you."

 

Frances straightened her back. Her lips compressed into a thin line. "That's quite enough," Frances said. "It's not your place to question Markwith's motives."

 

"Not your place either, I guess," Buffy said, slinging her slim pack across her shoulders. "Looks like the only guy who gets to do that is Angel."

 

When Frances stiffened yet further, Buffy sighed. "You want to give me directions or what?"

 

*******

 

Buffy had visited London once before. The summer after she'd graduated from high school -- the summer after she and Angel had broken up -- her mother had attempted to reward and comfort her with a three-week trip. Joyce had come along for the first week, and they'd shopped in Harrods and eaten out and had what her mother considered a very nice time. Buffy's face had hurt from forcing herself to smile.

 

The second two weeks had been Buffy's own. Joyce had claimed she couldn't leave Dawn or the gallery that long, but Buffy knew that Joyce was hoping her elder daughter would go out, go dancing, find exotic young men to drink and flirt with, maybe even have a vacation fling that would erase Angel from her mind.

 

Instead, Buffy had spent a lot of time sobbing in her hotel room, sending morose postcards to Willow and writing some extraordinarily bad poetry. All in all, the trip had left a lot to be desired.

 

But at least London looked better then than it does now, Buffy thought.

 

Now that she had light to see, and a full range of vision instead of the transport's thin window, she could see more evidence of the damage. Most buildings looked as though they had been abandoned long ago. Yet here and there, amid the damaged buildings, would be one in good condition, with lights and flickers of movement behind the windows, or laundry hanging out on the sill to dry. The curbs were still visible, but the roads had remained uncleaned for so long that they were reverting from pavement into dirt; a few plants had pushed their way through, and some of them had gotten pretty tall. She checked out the car she'd seen the night before with the bloody handprint. With her Sunnydale High education, Buffy quickly realized the blood had been there for a long time. Apparently nobody was in charge of crime-scene cleanup anymore. The whole city's a crime scene, she thought.

 

As she got closer to the Keep, though, the situation changed for the better.

 

She started to see people.

 

At first there were just one or two at a time, hurrying along back to their homes, wherever they'd staked their claim. They wore clothes even more drab and shapeless than the ones she'd seen so far, and they clutched cloth bags close to them, as though scared their belongings would be taken at any moment.

 

Every few blocks, though, Buffy would begin to see more and more people, and they were more relaxed -- talking to one another, greeting people who were obviously friends or neighbors. She was startled when she saw the first pushcart, trundled along by a man offering potatoes to apparently eager customers. By the time she was within sight of the Keep, though, there were literally dozens of these pushcarts around, trading cloth and produce and simple tools.

 

Xander would say I've truly come home, Buffy thought. I found the mall.

 

One cart caught Buffy's eyes, and she started. It was piled high with cloth -- most of it in the plain white and dark gray and olive green she'd become so used to in the past weeks. But her eyes were caught by a few things -- tucked almost out of sight -- in dark red and regal blue. She jogged up to the cart. "Can I see those?" she said.

 

The woman behind the cart, a stout, sweet-faced lady with hip-length dark hair, raised her eyebrows as she smiled. "You're not afraid, then."

 

"Not of primary colors, anyway," Buffy said. The fabric was light and surprisingly soft; though it was flimsier than the garb the Watchers had given her, it was also obviously a lot prettier.She was surprised how much something so simple could cheer her. "Oooh, nice. What do you want for this fabric?"

 

The woman smiled and, to Buffy's surprise, took the question literally. "What will you trade me?"

 

"Haven't got much," Buffy said. She pulled down her pack, realizing that money was probably as thing of the past too. And, with all her possessions easily lifted in one hand, she wasn't very well-prepared for bartering. "A lot of clothes, but you probably don't need fabric, seeing as how you sell fabric. Not really much else, except an apple I swiped at breakfast and a few sheets of paper --"

 

"Paper?" the woman's face lit up. "You have paper?"

 

"Yeah," Buffy said. "Only have about ten sheets left --"

 

"Ten sheets! Will you part with them?"

 

Buffy shrugged as she quirked her mouth. "You got it."

 

The woman took the paper with a trembling hand, then quickly handed over thick bundles of red and blue fabric, all the bright cloth she had. "You have no idea what this means. If you ever get any more, please do come back. I'll trade at any time. Or set up other trades for you, if you like. I'm Tam. I come here twice a week."

 

"Tam," Buffy repeated as she put out her hand to shake. She felt absurdly glad to know any person who wasn't a Watcher or Slayer. "I'm Buffy. Didn't realize paper was such a commodity in these parts. Makes sense, though. Not a whole lot of logging going on."

 

"We make our own, of course, but it's hard to make the quantities and grades we need," Tam said. "Where does your group get such fine quality? This is lovely."

 

Buffy frowned a little. Her group? She asked a different question aloud. "How come you don't make more cloth like this? I'd think people would be buying the red and blue like crazy."

 

"Most people don't like the extra attention," Tam said. "Most people can't protect themselves from it."

 

"You mean, the whole vamps-jam-on-bright-colors thing?" Buffy frowned. "It doesn't really make that big a difference. I mean, they like the flash, but they're not that much more likely to strike because of it."

 

Tam shrugged. "But every bit helps, doesn't it?"

 

"Guess it does," Buffy said. The more she thought about it, the more she realized that, in a desperate situation, people would clutch at any means of improving their chances of not being picked out for a vampire's lunch. She managed to compress her new acquisitions into her pack, then shouldered it again. "So, just curious on this point -- how did you know I'd be able to protect myself?"

 

Tam creased her forehead in puzzlement. "You had paper. You didn't think I'd know?"

 

Buffy thought about this for a second, then remembered what Markwith and Frances had told her. "Oh, witchcraft! You're a witch?"

 

Tam's round face went ghostly pale and looked around quickly. "Please! Your voice --"

 

"I'm sorry!" Buffy said, holding her palms out toward Tam. Too late, the rest of what Markwith and Frances had told her was sinking in -- the part about witchcraft being forbidden for all but a few, one of whom Tam apparently was not.

 

"It's all right," Tam said, breathing a little more easily. "Nobody unusual was about. My friends here, they know. But you can't ever say when somebody from the Council might be coming by."

 

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Never know when they'll turn up."

 

Tam repiled her things on her cart and prepared to push it away. "I'm moving on just in case anybody thinks of mentioning this. You won't, will you? Do you promise?"

 

"You kidding?" Buffy said weakly. "I'm the one with all the incriminating paper."

 

Tam hesitated a moment longer, then smiled at her unevenly. "Then return when you've got more."

 

With that Tam trundled off. Buffy watched her go until she was sure Tam wouldn't turn back. Then she headed toward the entrance to the Keep.

 

***********

 

Frances rushed Buffy through her introduction to her new home; apparently the others had gotten a nice lunch and a tour for their trouble. Buffy got a few minutes to change clothes and get a glance at her new, private apartment -- which, though roomy, was still too bland and empty for Buffy's taste -- before she dumped her pack on the bed and hurried up to the new training room.

 

Buffy gave a low whistle as she walked into the room -- almost football-field long, with walls that displayed an array of weapons such as Buffy had never seen. The other Slayers, all five of them, were going through a kata Buffy vaguely remembered from her late-fall burst of slaying enthusiasm. "This is like Fort Knox for armaments," Buffy said. "Way cool."

 

"At last you have decided to come work," Noor said. She was sweating from exertion. "Did you enjoy your pleasant stroll?"

 

"As much as you enjoyed your pleasant lunch," Buffy shot back. But Noor only gave her a small smile in response, and Buffy wondered how much of Noor's bad humor was just for show, after all.

 

Buffy took a place in the back near Xiaoting and slipped easily into the moves of the kata. As she feigned a twist kick, she whispered, "Got some gorgeous fabric. Actual colors and everything. We won't have to wear the Chairman Mao spring collection any more."

 

"Chairman Mao -- that sounds sort of familiar," Xiaoting mused quietly as they reached toward the sky, then brought their arms down in two sharp blocks.

 

As the kata ended, they each bowed quickly to the Watcher leading the kata. Xiaoting then turned to Buffy. "Thank goodness you've got something with some color in it," she said. "These things are boring me to tears."

 

"I rather like these clothes," Agatha said, holding one loose-trousered leg out for inspection. "You've no idea how wretched it was, trying to slay in a corset."

 

"Ugh," Buffy said. "Didn't you pass out?"

 

"Sometimes," Agatha said. "But most nights I simply used my bow and arrow. And I do have to admit, hoop skirts were excellent for concealing weapons."

 

"I remember thinking that," Buffy said, flashing back to a Halloween centuries past.

 

"Vanity," Noor sniffed. "We are here to do a job, not worry about our finery."

 

"Or lack thereof," Xiaoting said. "The clothes aren't a distraction, Noor. They're just for fun."

 

"This isn't about fun," Agatha said.

 

As they bickered, Buffy looked past them to see Sumiko and Sky. Both of them were sitting on the floor near the front, waiting for the Watcher to lead the next exercise. Sumiko's eyes were shut, her expression serene.

 

Sky looked as miserable as only a young teenage girl can look. Her arms were folded across her chest, her lanky legs tucked awkwardly up under her, and her face set in a sulk. Buffy had a sudden, piercing recollection of Dawn, and she had to close her eyes for a long moment.

 

Buffy stepped away from the others, who by now were too involved in their argument to notice, and went to Sky's side. "Hey," she said. Sky jumped at the sound, then half-turned toward her with a scowl. "How's it going?" Buffy offered. "I mean, how are you?"

 

"Useless, thanks."

 

"I know it's a drag," Buffy said. "Having other Slayers show up? Happened to me too, you know."

 

"You all showed up together," Sky said in the same grudging voice. "You're all a team, aren't you?"

 

"In a manner of speaking," Buffy said. "But that's not what I meant. Before -- way back in ye olden times of the 20th century -- I had another Slayer show up."

 

That caught Sky's interest, and she looked up at Buffy with ill-hidden curiosity. "You're telling me a story. There's only ever been one Slayer at a time. Didn't they ever tell you? One Slayer dies --"

 

"The next is called," Buffy said. "If I had a nickle for every time I heard that -- well, now that money's useless, I would actually not be any better off. So let's get back to the point, which is that I have had the pleasure of coming back from the dead before this. I'm getting pretty good at it."

 

"You died and came back again -- again?" Sky said. Her curiosity was winning out over her attitude at last, and she got to her feet. Buffy tilted her head up as Sky slowly pulled herself up to her full height -- which appeared to be an inch or two more than Riley could have claimed.

 

"Uh, yeah," Buffy said. trying not to be disconcerted at talking to a giantess. "The first time, I got drowned by a vampire master. Fortunately two friends of mine -- one of them being Angel -- showed up to help. The other friend, Xander, was able to resuscitate me."

 

"And that called another Slayer?" Sky said.

 

"Her name was Kendra," Buffy said. She was beginning to feel a little misty, talking about Xander and now Kendra. She'd never thought to say any of their names again. "She was terrific. And she would have fit in here so much better than me."

 

After Kendra came Faith, Buffy remembered, and the mist cleared right up. Weird -- she hadn't thought about Faith being dead and lost too. And she still wasn't sure she cared.

 

I ought to care, Buffy thought. But her heart was unmoved.

 

"Two Slayers at one time," Sky said. A bit of the pout reappeared. "Now there's six. You can't tell me that's not a crowd."

 

Buffy turned her attention back to the young girl. "Listen, when Kendra first showed up and laid her whole we-are-the-chosen-two thing on me, I was not happy. I was all, hey, you, get off of my cloud, you know?"

 

From the perplexed expression on Sky's face, Buffy could tell she needed to get a bit more literal. "I hated it, at first. I thought it made me less important. But really it just made me less alone."

 

Sky sighed. "It's just -- the Slayer before me was so good. Inez lived for three years, and she was smart and talented and beautiful, too, a real stunner."

 

"She stood out," Buffy said. "That's okay. You'll stand out too. Find the thing you do best, and do it like crazy. Ask them if there's not something else you can do -- something new, something Inez didn't do. You can make them see that you're special."

 

Sky's young face was torn between hope and doubt. After a moment, she said, "The people loved her. I've been at it two months now, and I mean, they respect me, but -- they don't love me."

 

"They're gonna love you," Buffy said with assurance. "Give 'em time. We're not that cuddly a group, actually."

 

At that very moment, Noor said, "I am tired of your frivolity and your ridiculous concerns!"

 

"And I am sick and tired of being lectured at every turn by a sour, angry --"

 

Xiaoting was interrupted by the Watcher in charge. "Ah -- perhaps that's enough of a break, then?"

 

The others turned back to him; he was holding an armful of quarterstaffs. "I had thought we, ah, might try some quarterstaff work, if ever you need to get a vampire out of your immediate proximity --"

 

"Sounds great," Xiaoting said, stalking forward to grab her weapon. Noor followed suit, and the two of them were soon poised to square off.

 

The Watcher, attempting to exert some authority, said, "No, no. Let's, ah -- let's match up by height, shall we? Most even that way."

 

"It won't be even out there," Noor said, still glaring at Xiaoting.

 

"Come along now. Let's see -- that puts Sky and Agatha together --" The two tallest Slayers moved to their corner. "Then Noor and Buffy, and Xiaoting and Sumiko." Sumiko, understanding her name, looked up from her quiet meditation on the floor, got to her feet, and obediently took the quarterstaff Xiaoting offered.

 

"You are shorter than Xiaoting," Noor muttered as they faced off.

 

"About the same, I think," Buffy said uneasily. Noor looked furious, and Buffy had never really done a lot of serious quarterstaff fighting --

 

"Begin!" the Watcher shouted, and Noor swung her staff toward Buffy -- and Buffy parried it easily, twisted it around, disarmed Noor in a stroke. Noor somersaulted backwards to catch the staff before it hit the ground, but Buffy was on her in a moment. She let loose with strike after strike, never letting Noor get her bearings. After a minute she tried the twist again. It worked again, and Noor's staff spun off into the wall.

 

From her half-crouching position, Noor stared up at Buffy, amazed. "What is this? You come at me like a crazy person. And you have spent the last two weeks sleepwalking."

 

Sleepwalking. That was as good a term as any for the way she'd been dragging around. Today, though -- she was no less sad, no less bewildered about her surroundings. But everything had begun to change because of Angel. Not because he was here himself, she realized -- or, at any rate, not only because he was here. But because of what she could now know. What she could at last bear to hear.

 

Buffy took a deep breath and smiled. "I guess I woke up."

 

**********************

 

Chapter Seven

 

"What's Kept in the Keep"

 

 

 

Buffy wiped sweat from her forehead and panted, exhausted. The target in front of her had been bulls-eyed so many times she didn't she'd be able to fit another arrow in the center.

 

Wouldn't mind trying, she thought with a grim smile.

 

"Well, Buffy, this is -- much better," Frances said, somewhat grudgingly. Her extreme chill toward Buffy earlier in the day was fading in light of actual evidence that her charge truly could slay.

 

"This is much more my style," Buffy said. "Really."

 

"We shall see," Frances said. She raised her voice and said, "That will be all for today. You're free to do as you please."

 

"A bath!" Xiaoting exulted.

 

"A nap," Agatha sighed.

 

"Privacy," Noor muttered.

 

"So, do I get my own version of the tour?" Buffy said.

 

Frances smiled a little stiffly, then looked around the room, perhaps seeking another guide -- any other guide. But the various Watchers were already headed out the door. "Ah. Certainly. What would you like to see?"

 

"The general lay of the land would be nice."

 

Buffy started braiding her sweaty hair back from her face as Frances led her out the door. "The Keep is far too vast a complex to be comprehensively toured in a day. Or even a week, I should say. But I can explain the basics for you. What little livestock we have is chambered in the basement areas. And you've already seen the heart of the Chamber, near ground level."

 

"Got that," Buffy said. "What else is down there?"

 

"Storage, mostly. Warehousing space. Workshops. The library and the reliquary." Frances' stern expression softened a little. "I used to work in the reliquary, when I was younger. Quiet, musty old place, but fascinating. You wouldn't believe the artifacts we have down there --" Her voice trailed off, as though she were lost in thought.

 

"Relics from days of yore, huh? Seems like I was one of them," Buffy said.

 

Frances was all business again in an instant. "Higher up we have the training rooms and the schoolrooms for the young ones."

 

"Kids?" Buffy said. That seemed an unexpectedly cheerful aspect to this place, but it made sense. "The Watchers' children live here too."

 

"Well, of course," Frances said. "Though we do try to keep them from running underfoot. What I was referring to, though, were the young women. The Slayers yet to be called."

 

"What -- they're here? You have a -- school for Slayers?"

 

"The world's far too risky a place to leave future Slayers to chance. The Council's always made an effort to find girls who may be called one day, to begin their training early. Now we also bring the girls here to live."

 

"Their parents okay with that?" Buffy frowned.

 

"Buffy -- no parent would want anything but the safety of the Keep for their child. Not in these times."

 

And if she could've sent Dawn to Thailand, to Jupiter, to Narnia, to keep her safe from Glory, wouldn't she have done it? Buffy said, "I understand."

 

"We bring them as soon as they're found," Frances said. "And they remain here until they are called or until they turn 18."

 

"18?" Buffy said, tensing slightly at the memory of that birthday, and the test that had accompanied it. Frances seemed unaware of any reason for discomfort.

 

"If a girl's not been called by her 18th birthday, she will never be. Very few are called even after 17, but we hang on that extra year to be sure."

 

Buffy's steps slowed as she considered what Frances had said. "Some of them -- they don't get called."

 

"Of course not," Frances said. "There are always twenty or thirty girls with the potential at any given time. But if the current Slayer lives long enough, then some of those girls will age beyond the point of being Called while she serves."

 

Weird, Buffy thought. To prepare your whole life for this, and just have it not happen. Maybe as weird as having it happen when you weren't prepared at all. "What do you do with them then? Just toss them out with the trash?"

 

"That's uncalled for," Frances said severely. "The girls are free to do as they wish. Some of them do become Watchers, you know. Ishak's mother Shireen was one of those."

 

And the others? Buffy thought. Were they free to just go out into the nightmare and make their way? The topic was too depressing to pursue. "So you have them all here. For school and training."

 

"That's right," Frances said. "Well, we have almost all of them. We try very hard to be comprehensive with our searches, but transportation and communication between nations -- that's tricky. Even between cities, sometimes. But we've not missed a Slayer for a few decades now."

 

"Bully for you," Buffy said. They got into a lift, which began rising. "And we are now headed up to the living areas, which look totally like a Marriott, only less joyful and unique."

 

"You don't like your quarters," Frances said. "Too plain for you? You'd rather have a corner in one of the few buildings beyond the Keep with power and security? They sleep six to a room in there, or so I'm told."

 

Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Okay, they look better to me now. But, jeez, hang some paintings or something --"

 

"Anyway, we aren't headed to the living areas," Frances said. "We're going to the very top."

 

"And what's up there?" Buffy said tiredly.

 

The doors swooshed open, and Buffy gasped. Frances couldn't resist a little smile. "Welcome to the gardens."

 

The entire ceiling of the Keep was domed in glass, the various panes and angles casting warm rays of light down into the tiers of gardens below. Buffy stepped out of the lift onto the lowest level -- an orchard of fruit trees, hung with peaches and pears and apples like the one Buffy had stolen at breakfast. The ground around the rim sloped up to form rings of ascending height up to the very top of the building, sort of like this weird art museum her mom had dragged her to once on a long-ago trip to New York.

 

Buffy breathed in deeply; she hadn't realized, until this moment, how antiseptic and artificial the Keep smelled. It was -- too clean. Blank. Devoid of feeling. But this place smelled like fruit and grass and dirt and fertilizer, and it was wonderful. Even the fertilizer.

 

"Amazing," she said.

 

"It's lovely, isn't it?" Frances said softly. "We're not totally self-sustaining, of course. There are granaries outside of town. But this supplies most of our daily diet."

 

"Granaries," Buffy said. "You mean, like, wheat fields and silos and stuff?" When Frances nodded, Buffy said, "How come the vamps don't trash them? Seems like it would be pretty easy to send them up in smoke --"

 

"Why would they?" Frances said. "If we don't eat, they don't eat."

 

"Your point is made," Buffy said. She looked down at the thick grass beneath her feet and stifled the urge to take off her shoes, to feel the cool blades between her toes.

 

"We'll get you a look at the schoolrooms, maybe a couple of the workshops," Frances said. "I expect you'll find the library soon enough. But I thought -- maybe -- you'd want to see this."

 

"You were right," Buffy said. "Thanks, Frances. I mean it."

 

Frances actually looked a little bashful as she led Buffy back into the lift.

 

**

 

When the tour was done, Buffy headed back to her room. She had only an hour or two before her -- what? Date? Appointment? Meeting, she decided. Her meeting with Angel. She was going to need that time to get her head together. It wasn't like she could put on anything special, not unless she just wanted to wrap a bolt of cloth around her for a toga.

 

Please, she thought. Let's not scare the man any more than necessary.

 

As she came down her hallway -- at least, she thought it was her hallway -- she heard Xiaoting's voice. "There you are!"

 

She turned around to see Xiaoting jogging toward her. "They've got us all on the same hallway. Can't imagine who they moved to pull that off."

 

"Cool," Buffy said with a very genuine smile that surprised her. Though she wasn't at all sorry to have some space to herself -- sleeping in the same room with four other people weirded her out -- she was glad her fellow Slayers would be close by. After all, she thought, this is about 50 percent of the people I know on the entire planet.

 

"Agatha's got the best view of all," Xiaoting said. "Come see."

 

Agatha did have a brilliant view, as it turned out; through the various skyscrapers and walkways, there was still a view of Big Ben, now about at eye level. "Wow," Buffy said. "Bet this looks amazing after dark. If any of the buildings light up, I mean."

 

 

 

"It's somewhat depressing, though," Agatha said. "I was always so fond of Hyde Park, and it's all gone for this beastly place."

 

"Looks a little plain to you, too," Buffy said.

 

"Terribly," Agatha sighed from her place on her sofa. She had propped up some pillows so that the effect was more like that of a chaise longue. "The walls and ceiling are this horrid blank white, and the woodwork's not carved, and there's no pictures or sculptures or crystals on the shelves. It's utterly barren."

 

"Westerners," Xiaoting scoffed. "This place is gorgeous. All creamy and light."

 

"Where are Sumiko and Noor?" Buffy asked.

 

"Noor said she'd be along in a second," Xiaoting answered. "Personally, I think she's putting off having to deal with us again for as long as she can."

 

"Don't be unkind," Agatha said. "She's not used to sharing her space. Perhaps she had no sisters."

 

"Like that would explain her attitude," Xiaoting said. "And Sumiko -- well, she's still in a bit of a snit about Angel, isn't she? Thought it might be better just to have you."

 

"She doesn't understand," Buffy said softly. "It's a hard thing to understand, without words."

 

"She'll catch on eventually," Xiaoting said cheerfully. "A month or two goes by and Angel hasn't eaten anyone, and she'll get the idea."

 

"Do you think they ever have musicales?" Agatha asked. "If not, our afternoons may prove rather dull --"

 

The door chimed, and Agatha said, "Come in!" Buffy grinned, realizing that Agatha must have already gotten the swing of the technology.

 

Noor walked in, somewhat awkwardly. "What is this view you spoke of?"

 

"Take a look," Xiaoting said, gesturing expansively toward the window. "Isn't that marvelous?"

 

"It is buildings," Noor said. "Why do we want to look at buildings?"

 

Xiaoting sighed. "You could find a lump of coal at the bottom of a diamond mine, couldn't you?"

 

"Have a seat," Agatha said politely. "I'd offer you tea, but there doesn't seem to be any in the cupboards or the big cool box."

 

"England without tea," Buffy said. "The times, they are a changin'."

 

"We should discuss tactics," Noor said. "Compare methods. We have much to learn from each other."

 

"Don't you think about anything besides work?" Xiaoting asked.

 

"Noor has a point," Agatha said quickly. She sat up on her sofa. "We could learn from one another, I'm sure."

 

"Xiaoting can share her fashion advice," Noor said acidly. Xiaoting bristled.

 

Buffy quickly said, "Oh, no, definitely! I mean, we're supposed to be the biggest, baddest Slayers of them all, right? So we can help each other get badder. Though preferably not bigger."

 

"You could stand to put on a few pounds, dearest," Agatha said conspiratorially.

 

"Fine, then," Xiaoting sighed. She plopped down on the floor, sitting Indian-style. "What Slayery tips can we share?"

 

Noor seemed pleased to have won the day. "I have found it is useful to treat one's stakes. Soak them in water consecrated to the Christian church, or sometimes in the venom of a Velga demon. Anything that can affect the vampire. The stake retains the properties for many hours, sometimes, and the holy water will burn from within the wound. This way, if you cannot get a clear blow to the heart, you can still strike and do considerable damage. More than the stake alone would do."

 

Buffy thought about that for a second. "That's actually pretty cool."

 

"Sure, if you plan on missing the heart," Xiaoting said. "I generally don't miss."

 

"Well, then, as you are so wise, what advice do you have?" Noor said, folding her arms across her chest.

 

"I used to have the most marvelous whip of razor wire," Xiaoting said wistfully. "I could behead a vamp at ten feet, in about two seconds. We should ask if they still make razor wire because, let me tell you, that was the easiest way to do it."

 

"Rather gruesome, but effective," Agatha said, obviously still anxious to smooth over the conversation.

 

"You've heard of razor wire?" Buffy asked.

 

"Not before now, but the name is very descriptive," Agatha said. "For myself, I always found holy water very useful. And I discovered that it's possible to make more --"

 

"If you carry a priest along with you on patrols," Xiaoting said.

 

"Not at all. As it so happens, you can pour a small amount of holy water, a regular vial, into a larger amount of water and, in effect, consecrate the whole."

 

"Get real," Buffy scoffed. "I could pour a vial of holy water in the Atlantic Ocean and bless the whole thing?"

 

'Oh, no," Agatha said. "Not that much. Perhaps a bathtub full, no more. I -- I tried a thermal bath once. No effect. That's -- that's how I -- "

 

Her voice trailed off, and an awkward silence fell over the room. Finally, Noor asked, "What about you, Buffy?"

 

Buffy thought hard. "Well, if you're ever slaying in a nightclub, you should consider both pool cues and cymbals as potential slaying tools."

 

The other three were staring at her blankly. Buffy tried again. "Uh -- if you have, like, a carousel unicorn around, the horn works for staking?"

 

"This is not very likely," Noor said. Even Xiaoting and Agatha looked nonplussed.

 

"My innovations tended to be more on-the-spot type stuff," Buffy said. "I'm good at the improv. I swear."

 

"We believe you," Agatha said gently.

 

"Almost sundown," Xiaoting said, with a shrug at the window. The light behind Big Ben was going very warm and golden.

 

"Oh, jeez," Buffy said. "I have to get ready."

 

"Your big date with Angel," Xiaoting said, singsonging the name.

 

"It's not a date," Buffy said. "Emphatically not a date. It's -- a meeting."

 

"Of course it is," Agatha said with a little smile.

 

Even Noor looked amused.

 

**

 

March 23, 2353

 

Frances gave me another of her patented "Bad Naughty Evil Slayer" looks when I asked for more paper, but she handed it over. She probably thinks I'm in here trying some kind of voodoo to make her frizzy hair fall out. If I knew how to do it, believe me, she'd be ordering some Rogaine in a hurry.

 

Okay, she's not that bad. She was almost kind of friendly today for a little while, once she saw that I could slay for real. But she still gets on my last nerve. I'm going to learn to handle it, though.

 

I'm going to learn to handle all of this. I still don't like it here, and I still miss everybody so badly it hurts. Physically hurts, like I'd been hollowed out. But I don't want to end it anymore. I guess I want to see if I can deal.

 

Like, I'm so mad at Markwith I could scream, but I'm trying to cope. Trying not to let my heart rule my head, like Giles would tell me to do. Yeah, Markwith hates Angel. But so did Xander, and that didn't make him a terrible person. Xander was just a guy who saw things in black and white. Sometimes that was a good thing. Maybe Markwith's the same way.

 

Doesn't mean I don't feel like smacking him.

 

Anyway, even if he did bring me back here to mess with Angel's head, he's in for a big surprise. I mean, we're grown-ups. I'm 20 years old, and Angel's -- wow -- pushing 600. That's kinda just sinking in. Wow. Amend Angel to being VERY grown-up.

 

The point is, we've both changed a lot since we were those people so crazy in love. I've grown up a lot. Lost a lot. And Angel's changed way more than I have, I bet. I mean, 350 years. That's a long time. Way longer than I can even imagine. So I don't guess he feels the same about me anymore. It's weird, but I don't even know how to think about an Angel who -- just say it -- doesn't love me anymore. I don't even know who that guy is. But I shouldn't feel hurt because he moved on. After three centuries, you gotta move on, right?

 

I keep telling myself that. But it's hard. I mean, for me it was just weeks ago when we were holding each other at Lawndale Cemetary. I told him I wanted him to stay with me forever, and he wanted to stay so bad. I could see it in his eyes. And then we started kissing. God, kissing him after two whole years felt so good --

 

Okay. Bad line of thought. The point is, I've still got all these old emotions mixed up inside of me. Angel and I had been split up for a while at that point, and I'm still not sure how much of what happened after Mom's funeral was because of love and how much was just fear. That sounds so bad to say, but I think it's true. What if I was just scared? What if I just didn't want to be alone? And, though I would not have thought this was possible, I'm even more scared now than I was then.

 

I know I do still love him. I mean, that's not something that's gonna change. But if love were enough, we'd have been okay in the first place. And we weren't. We were already mixed-up and confused, and this situation is pretty much guaranteed not to make things better. So I'm not just gonna grab onto him like he was a life preserver or something. That's not going to fix anything. I just have to deal. I have to take what he can give me. Understanding. Friendship.

 

Answers.

 

*************

 

Chapter Eight

 

"Shadows and Fog"

 

 

 

I am not nervous, Buffy thought.

 

Sure, my palms are all sweaty, and I can't think straight, and my heart is beating about a jillion times a minute -- and I think he can actually HEAR that, which is so not cool --

 

She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. She had a bad case of ex-boyfriend jitters about seeing Angel, sure -- but she knew well enough that she was focusing on that for a reason.

 

Easier to be scared about Angel than to be scared about what he would tell her.

 

Buffy straightened out her clothes and smoothed her hair before pressing her palm to the pad beside Angel's door. It slid open immediately. "Hey," Angel said. He was standing in the door, shoulders slightly hunched, expression hesitant. "You found it."

 

"Frances told me where, after some major eye-rolling," Buffy said. The moment was every bit as awkward as she'd feared. Should she hug him? Offer to shake? Embarrassed, she glanced over his shoulder -- then lit up. "Look at your place!"

 

Buffy walked past Angel into a room that was the most welcoming and familiar she'd seen since her resurrection. Instead of being all white and gray, Angel's room had colors -- blankets in green and gold, with patterns woven in, and wooden chairs that had been stained rich brown or dark red. Candles and oil lamps provided light instead of the usual, severe overhead glare. Photographs and tiny holograms littered the shelves, and books covered almost every wall -- including a bricked-over one that, Buffy realized, would once have been a window. Where there weren't books, there were pictures -- sketches in oils or pencils of various people. A few old swords and daggers lay on the shelves as well. "Angel, this is great. Your room -- has -- stuff in it! Stuff you don't even need! I never realized how beautiful plain old stuff can be."

 

"These are pretty austere times," Angel said. "But I like to keep my things around me."

 

"I do too," Buffy said. She sank gratefully onto Angel's battered old sofa. "Right now, all my stuff fits in a shoulder pack. But I've already started shopping, so I think I can turn that around."

 

"Have you eaten dinner?" Angel asked, sitting in one of the chairs opposite her. "I brought up some wine and fruit, but if you wanted more --"

 

"Wine and fruit will be fine. Had the regulation salad for dinner," Buffy said, then frowned. "Are we on some kind of enforced diet? Because the leafy greens have been heavily represented in our meals."

 

"Yours and everyone else's," Angel said. "Raising animals for food takes a lot of space and security, Buffy. Those are two things most people don't have any longer."

 

"So McDonald's is gone too," Buffy said. "Now I know it's the apocalypse."

 

"They sold hamburgers, right?" Angel said.

 

"You're scaring me," Buffy said. Then she gasped. "Oh, wait, you really are. Angel, what are you eating?"

 

"We have some animals here at the Keep," Angel said. "Not many. But I get by."

 

She looked at his drawn face and wondered how often he actually got to feed. He saw her gaze, dropped his eyes, then turned to pour some wine into two earthenware goblets. Buffy sighed and glanced around the room again. This is just gonna stay awkward, she told herself. Get used to it.

 

Her eyes fell on the two largest sketches in the room -- older ones, on paper that had yellowed with age. They were middle-aged people, a man and a woman --

 

Buffy sat upright as she realized that they were Wesley and Cordelia. Wesley had gray hair at his temples; Cordelia was a little rounder. But the faces were unmistakable.

 

"Buffy?" Angel said, puzzled by her reaction.

 

"I'm okay," she said, accepting the goblet of wine and slumping back in the sofa. "You're a good artist, Angel. I'd forgotten."

 

If Angel still remembered how she had learned of his drawing ability, he showed no sign of it. "Thanks. I made them sit for these before Wesley and I moved to England. I wanted two in the same style, of the same time. Cordelia wanted me to draw her young again, but she was more beautiful like this." Angel smiled gently. "I don't think she ever knew that."

 

Okay, Buffy thought, this is NOT how I am used to hearing Angel talk about Cordy. Or Wesley, for that matter. Time to get started. "I'm about out of small talk," she said.

 

"I never had much to start with."

 

"Angel, I need you to tell me -- God. Everything, I guess."

 

Angel leaned forward, holding his goblet in both hands. "Everything about what?"

 

"Everything. How the world got like this. How you ended up on the Council. What happened -- what happened to my friends." Buffy said the last in a rush, then breathed in deeply after she forced the words out.

 

"Wouldn't Markwith tell you?" Angel was slipping into his trademark glower. "Did he just keep you there for weeks without any answers?"

 

"Hey, Markwith's not on my Christmas-card list either, but I have to be fair. They didn't tell me because I didn't ask. I -- I couldn't."

 

"Why not?"

 

"I didn't want to hear it," Buffy admitted, hating the tightness in her throat as she spoke. "It was like -- if I didn't hear anybody say how they all died, then they wouldn't really be dead. You know?"

 

"Yes," Angel said gently. "I understand."

 

"And Frances and Markwith are so damn cold and official and everything. I didn't want to hear it from them. It would just be some fact they looked up in a book or something. It wouldn't mean anything. But I think I could hear it from you."

 

Buffy wasn't sure her reasoning made sense, but Angel didn't question her about it. Instead he looked at her calmly and said, "I don't remember it all, Buffy. It's been a long time. But whatever I know, I'll tell you. Where should I begin?"

 

For a moment, Buffy was unable to find words. Where should he begin? How did you decide whose death to hear first? After a moment, she hit on the one bit of information she did have. "Let's start -- let's start with Giles," she said. "How did he end up head of the Council?"

 

Angel frowned. "Giles was never head of the Council. Never really had much to do with them at all, after your death."

 

"That's not right," Buffy said, clinging to her information. "Xiaoting said you joined the Council when my Watcher was in charge."

 

"Is that how the story goes?" Angel said. "I can see why they'd say that. But they're talking about Wesley, not Giles."

 

"Wesley?"

 

"He was your Watcher for a while, wasn't he?"

 

"Yeah, I remember that." Buffy started to ask about Giles again, but that scared, twisted-up part of her quailed once more. Instead she said,. "How did Wesley end up head of the Council?"

 

"That's probably a good place for us to begin," Angel said. He sat back in his chair and took another sip of wine; he had the quiet, inward expression Buffy recognized as the prelude to a long story.

 

"Your death created a major crisis for the Council, Buffy. They'd always had a Slayer to control -- or, in your case, negotiate with. After you died, though, they only had Faith, who still had years left in her prison sentence. They didn't believe in her change of heart --"

 

Big shocker, Buffy thought.

 

"-- and they thought they'd be decades without a warrior for the fight."

 

"So what did they do? Hire a temp?"

 

"They killed her."

 

Buffy felt the floor shift beneath her. "What?"

 

"They sent assassins into the prison to kill her. Normally she could have fought them, but within the confines of jail -- Faith never had a chance."

 

Not like that, Buffy thought. I think I still hate her, but I wouldn't want her to die like that.

 

"Fortunately, that was the last decision the old guard in the Council ever made. That leader -- what was his name?"

 

"Quentin Travers," Buffy said automatically. Her mind was still flashing images of Faith pinned inside a cell, raging uselessly as her murderers closed in.

 

"Travers, right. He'd been abusing the Council's role for a long time, but Faith's assassination proved too much for the others to accept. They threw out the old guard, invited in the new. That included Wesley. He helped them be more flexible, more understanding, more protective of their Slayers."

 

"Wesley. Flexible," Buffy said. "These words do not match."

 

Angel looked at her strangely. But he said only, "You remember him differently than I do."

 

"I guess he changed." Buffy felt suddenly embarrassed to have joked about Wesley at all.

 

"Anyway, once he'd become their leader, he invited me to join. He convinced them that I could be a help. And I wanted to help rebuild something that might help other Slayers. I thought it was the best way to honor you." Angel said this all very simply, but Buffy felt her breath catch for a moment.

 

He continued, "And we did help, Buffy. For a good 200 years, the Council was what it was supposed to be. We got rid of that barbaric test they used to put Slayers through at 18. Stopped withholding information for gain. Used our connections to simplify their lives. Brought their families into the fold."

 

"Sounds nice," Buffy said. "My life would've been a whole lot easier with that kind of Council."

 

"That was the idea."

 

"So what changed?"

 

Angel sighed and looked down at the floor. "It all happened pretty fast. There had been other biological wars, but they were always contained, somehow. Humanity got lucky too many times. Finally they set free a disease they couldn't stop."

 

"Vamps didn't do this?" Buffy said. "PEOPLE did this?"

 

"A soul's no guarantee of goodness," Angel said slowly. "Vampires didn't decimate humanity. They just survived where billions of people died. The few humans who were immune were left in a world with a lot of hungry vampires -- and a lot of demons who'd just been waiting for their chance to reclaim the land."

 

"Well, all those years I spent averting the apocalypse are starting to seem like they were not time well-spent," Buffy said brokenly.

 

"Don't feel like that; we're not through. Just down. Not out. We -- we have to believe that."

 

Buffy took a sniffly breath and exhaled slowly. "I'm gonna be really mad about that later. But keep going."

 

"Well, the situation became desperate in a hurry. People were traumatized enough after the plagues; then they found out about the supernatural world. Found out that, for a big percentage of the world's remaining population, they were food. There was -- panic. Despair. The Council went public with the Slayer not long after that. It was meant to provide hope. Instead, it turned the Council into a bunch of politicians."

 

"Just when I thought they could get no worse," Buffy muttered.

 

"So things have been strange ever since," Angel said. "I think most of us on the Council are doing the best they can. But there are always people like Markwith. People who act like this is a game for an individual to win. Not a war we all have to win together."

 

He said no more, but simply studied her face.

 

After a few moments, Buffy sighed. "Can't put it off any longer, can I?"

 

"I was wondering when you'd realize that."

 

"Knew it all along," she said. She was silent for a while longer, half-hoping Angel would say something -- something trivial, maybe. Ask her if she wanted some wine. Tell her more about the Council. Swear at Markwith.

 

But he remained quiet, and she knew it was finally time to hear the whole truth. "Okay, then," she said softly. "What did happen to Giles?"

 

Angel looked at her steadily. "Buffy, Giles didn't do too well after your death."

 

"What do you mean?" Buffy said, sitting up in alarm, as though she could jump up and fix whatever was wrong.

 

"Losing you took something out of him," Angel said. "Took something out of all of us, but Giles was the one who couldn't seem to go on."

 

"But he did, eventually. He -- he got married, maybe to Olivia, and he kept on with his store, and he had the Scoobs there to help him --"

 

"I don't think he ever married," Angel said. "I can't remember for sure. But I know that he died just a few years later."

 

Buffy felt her skin go cold. "Something -- killed Giles?"

 

"No. Natural causes. He didn't take such good care of himself after -- well, after."

 

Buffy closed her eyes against the tears. No further explanations were needed; how many times had she seen him after some great trauma or crisis, holed up in his apartment, drinking from the bottles he thought he hid so well from their view. Giles, she thought, when I get done crying, I am going to be so mad at you. But she said only, "And Dawn?"

 

"Dawn managed better. I don't know much about the first few years after you died, but she went to college in LA. Eventually she looked me up. We didn't have a whole lot to talk about besides you, though, and after a while that -- that just hurt too much. But we kept in touch."

 

"Did -- did she have a good life?"

 

Angel looked at her gently. "I don't know that I can say for sure. I remember her very sad. But I think that had more to do with the fact that we always talked about you -- how much we missed you. I know she didn't ever get married or have kids. I used to wish she would."

 

"Why?"

 

"I guess I wondered what a Summers baby would look like," Angel said. Then, hurriedly, "Anyway, she had a long life. I know she traveled a lot. And she wrote a book."

 

Buffy smiled through her tears. "Really? Dawnie wrote a book? That's -- that's great."

 

All those diaries were good for something, Buffy thought. No kids, though. No hubby. Is that what she wanted? She tried to envision Dawn as some intrepid writer, independent and courageous, maybe with a great penthouse apartment in New York and a string of devoted lovers. Eww, she thought, scratch "lovers." Make that boyfriends, and it's a picture I can live with.

 

"Do you have it? The book, I mean."

 

Angel shook his head. "I'm sorry. I've had some things destroyed and stolen over the years, and that was one of them."

 

"Okay, then." Buffy took a deep breath. "What about Willow?"

 

"I don't know."

 

Buffy waited. "That's it? You don't know? Didn't you ever see her again?"

 

"She was the one who came and told me --" His voice trailed off, and his gaze dropped. After a moment, he continued. "I saw her at the wake, I'm sure. But after that -- I don't remember anything. I know we didn't see each other much, if at all. I've been racking my brain all day, and there's nothing else."

 

"You forgot," Buffy said. "You just up and forgot Willow. She didn't matter."

 

"That's not it. Buffy, please," Angel said, leaning forward slightly. "350 years is a really long time, even to me."

 

"There aren't any records? Or, or, computer lists, or something?"

 

"Nothing beyond Giles' Watcher diaries, and those end at your death. Buffy, I'm really sorry."

 

"Dammit," Buffy said. The tears threatened again, but she kept blinking them back. Willow stopped right there, she thought. Buffy pictured her as she had been the night of that final battle, running off into a swirling fog, never to be seen again.

 

She breathed in and out, slowly and deliberately. When she spoke again, her voice was scratchy. "Don't guess you saw much of Xander, either."

 

"Not much, but I do remember him." Angel sounded relieved to have something to offer. "He was very close to Dawn, and sometimes I saw him when he was visiting her in L.A."

 

"Was he happy, do you know? Did -- did he marry Anya? He told me he was thinking about asking her."

 

"Oh, God, I'd forgotton that Anya and Xander used to be married." Angel shook his head. "Can't believe I forgot that."

 

"So they split up." To Buffy's surprise, that actually bothered her. "How did you know Anya, if not through Xander?"

 

"That must be how I met her. But her second marriage was to a friend of mine in L.A., a billionaire named David Nabbit. Odd sort of guy, but he had money, and did she ever love money. For his part, he had, uh, I guess you'd call it a demon fetish."

 

"Match made in the netherworld," Buffy said as she laughed a little. "Were they happy?"

 

"They were very wealthy together," Angel said.

 

"Way to go, Anya," Buffy said. "And Xander?"

 

"Last I remember he had his business -- construction or something? -- in Sunnydale. And he was remarried -- don't remember her name, but I'm pretty sure she knew you --" Angel frowned, opened his mouth to speak, shut it again. After a moment, he finally said, "Okay, this might sound crazy. But -- did you ever have a friend who spent a lot of time -- this is going to sound so weird -- a lot of time as a rat?"

 

"Amy!" Buffy lit up. "Amy Madison! She got unratted! Thank God. Xander and Amy, huh?"

 

Angel shook his head. "I'd forgotten what it was like, living on a Hellmouth."

 

Buffy leaned back into the sofa, trying to digest the information she'd been given. She could just see Xander and Amy now, in a nice, cozy house in Sunnydale, maybe one Xander had built with his own hands. He would have liked that. Amy would probably be overjoyed to live in anything that wasn't a Habitrail. Buffy liked her picture of them, and she decided to keep it firm in her memory, along with the image of Dawn in her Manhattan penthouse.

 

It kept her from having to picture Willow vanishing in that fog. Or Giles, alone in his apartment, looking old and tired as he clutched a half-empty glass.

 

After a little while, she looked up; Angel was watching her patiently, waiting to see what else she might need. She had forgotten how quiet he could be. How still.

 

She still needed so much -- so many answers he could not give her. If Angel remembered nothing further of Willow, then he would probably never even have met Tara or learned anything more about Oz. It seemed more than unlikely that he would ever have known, or cared, what became of Riley. And asking him about Spike would mean asking herself why she wanted to know about Spike in the first place.

 

"What about you?" she finally said. "How -- how has it been for you?"

 

Angel raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips. "There's no one answer to that. I've had good years, good decades. And I've had bad times, too. Seen things I never wanted to see." He looked at her, a curious expression on his face. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm not human. Or dead."

 

Buffy sat still for a moment, trying to think about what she was missing. "Uh, no, not really. I mean, you're not human because you got vamped, and you're not dead because you didn't get staked. Right?"

 

"You didn't know about the shanshu prophecy?" Angel said. He shook his head. "Could've sworn I found out while you were alive." Then his expression changed. "Oh. I didn't tell you --"

 

"Didn't tell me what? About shanshu?" Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Is that a style of sushi or something?"

 

"At some point -- it must have been not long after you died, though I could've sworn -- never mind. Anyway, I got my hands on an ancient scroll of prophecy. Wesley translated it and found some prophesies about me."

 

"I hate it when that happens."

 

Angel half-smiled. "The prophecy said that I would achieve something called shanshu. Wesley translated that to mean that I would someday become human."

 

Buffy could've sworn she felt that last word -- human -- slamming into her, force and heat and hope all at once. She put her hand to her mouth, felt her lips curving into a wide, crazy grin against her palm. "Oh, my God," she whispered. "Angel -- why didn't you tell me?"

 

"You had your own life. I didn't want you to spend it waiting for me."

 

"I would be a whole lot more pissed off at you if I weren't so --" Buffy shook her head, unable to put words to her emotions. "Angel, you're going to live again --"

 

He shook his head quickly, and her smile faded as he spoke. "Buffy, it wasn't true. The Council finally broke it to me a couple decades after the plagues. Wesley was -- well, he was wrong. Only mistranslation he ever made in his life." Angel smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "It was a good mistake, though. It gave me hope in the years when I needed it most. By the time I found out differently, I could bear it."

 

"I'm sorry," Buffy said. "I can't even say how sorry."

 

"It's okay," Angel said. "I can't pretend it wasn't a blow. But it was a long time ago now."

 

Buffy swallowed hard. "So what is this shanshu you're going to get?"

 

"Near as the Council could figure, it means something like 'peace of mind.'"

 

"Are you there yet?" Buffy said, forcing a little smile.

 

Angel returned it. "Not quite. But I think I'm a lot closer than I used to be."

 

"Out of all this time, what were the best years?"

 

"You should know the answer to that."

 

Buffy's cheeks flushed with warmth. "I mean, after."

 

"Probably those next few decades, with Wes and Cordy. They were the best friends I ever had, in any era. And we did a lot of good work. I knew their spouses and their children, loved them throughout their lives. That was the one time -- since I was alive, I mean -- when I had a family." Angel's face had taken on a softness she'd almost never seen, and for a moment, Buffy had to fight off a wave of unreasonable jealousy. "I still miss them. Every day."

 

"What were the worst years?"

 

"The plagues," Angel said, softness gone in an instant. "You can't imagine what it was like, Buffy. People died so quickly, in such numbers, that there was no one to bury them, and after that --"

 

"Okay, saw 'The Stand,' know the drill," Buffy said hurriedly.

 

Angel seemed to ignore her. "I'm grateful you didn't have to see that. It would have made you crazy. We're alike in that way -- we see people in trouble, and we want to rush in and help right that second. If we can't, we lose it. I remember that much about you."

 

"What else do you remember about me?" Buffy said, and then felt a little stupid for asking. Then, when she thought about it for a moment, she decided it was actually a pretty good question. She looked up at him to see his expression; he was deep in thought, considering carefully before he answered.

 

Finally, he said, "I remember your fighting spirit. Your sense of humor. And I'm not sure those two aren't really the same thing."

 

Buffy felt a reluctant smile tugging at her lips. "Fair enough."

 

"I remember that you made friends as quickly and as deeply as anyone I ever knew. I remember that you were the first person who loved me and trusted me even after knowing what I was, what I was capable of. I remember how I felt when Willow told me -- oh, God, Buffy, when she told me you were dead --"

 

He stopped then, caught short by the pain of memory; Buffy knew the look on his face, knew it mirrored so much of what she had been feeling these past several months. On impulse, she reached out and took his hand. "Hey," she said softly. "I'm all better now."

 

Angel smiled a little as he looked into her eyes again. "I meant what I said in the Council chambers, Buffy. What Markwith did was wrong. But I'm still glad you're back."

 

"No arguments either way," Buffy said. Angel's hand was warming in her own; she loved that, the way his skin would take on her body heat where they touched --

 

At the same moment, they pulled their hands apart. Angel's gaze dropped from hers, and Buffy quickly swallowed the last of her wine. "It's late," she said.

 

"You should go," Angel nodded. The awkwardness, which had eased so gently throughout the evening, tightened around them again. Buffy could feel the tightness in her chest, her throat. She expected him to apologize -- for what, she wasn't sure, but it was Angel's stock reaction to any blush-worthy situation.

 

Instead he said, "Tomorrow's going to be strange, Buffy. They're going to make a show of it. Don't let it get to you."

 

"Of course not," Buffy scoffed, though she was still uncertain exactly what Angel meant by "a show." She smiled as she went to the door. "Why would I let it get to me?"

 

"You'd be surprised," Angel said.

 

***********************

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

 

"Unveiling"

 

 

 

"We -- are -- Slayers. Slay -- Ers," Agatha repeated, still more slowly. Sumiko looked at her a little sadly, but made no effort to repeat the words.

 

"She's not having any of it," Xiaoting said. "Give up already."

 

"Well, it's maddening, isn't it?" Agatha grumbled as the smoothed her braided hair. "I mean, how can one not wish to learn the language?"

 

"Maybe she does not wish to hear people lecturing her day and night," Noor suggested. "I understand this wish very well."

 

Buffy sighed and tried once again to meet Sumiko's gaze; Sumiko dropped her head to avoid eye contact. Apparently Sumiko wasn't going to forgive Angel's presence without an explanation -- and she wasn't likely to understand an explanation anytime soon. To her surprise, Buffy felt a quick sting of loss. Silent though Sumiko was, she was the closest thing to a friend Buffy had among her fellow Slayers. Operative word, Buffy thought: Was.

 

The door to their waiting room slid open, and Sky walked through. To judge by the swagger in her step and the way she looked down her nose at them, she seemed to have substituted her old sulk with fresh attitude. "S'pose you lot are ready, then? Or still primping with your hair?"

 

Agatha bristled. Xiaoting folded her arms. Buffy, who understood young teenage girls very well after studying Dawn 101, smiled broadly at this sign of good spirits. "I think we're all done with our hairstyles, thanks," she said. "Except Noor, maybe."

 

Beneath her head wrap, Noor gave Buffy one of her half-amused scowls.

 

"Right, then. Let's get into the Chamber," Sky said. "They'll be getting ready to show you off any second now, so let's put on our parade."

 

"How are they going to do this in the Chamber?" Noor asked as they all got to their feet. "This seems a strange place."

 

Xiaoting added, "I was wondering that myself. What are they going to do? Show in the populace 200 at a time?"

 

Sky laughed. "Didn't they tell ya? Oh, you girls are in for quite a treat."

 

Agatha glanced over at Buffy, who shrugged.

 

As they entered the swinging wooden doors to the Chamber, Buffy's confusion increased; to her, it looked like the same collection of Watchers that she'd seen two days previously, complete with Ishak in his elevated chair. She quickly cast her eyes up to the place where she'd seen Angel before. He was there, and when their eyes met, she gave him a quick smile. His face didn't even move: he just looked worried and tense. Buffy felt her spirits take a sudden dip.

 

Ishak smiled down at them as the lights around them brightened to a startling degree. "At last we are ready," he said. "Let the ceremony begin."

 

"Ceremony?" Agatha said -- then cried, "Dear Lord!" Beside her, Sumiko jumped and uttered a wordless yelp.

 

The ceiling had split apart.

 

Buffy, veteran of Southern California's seismic instability, automatically started looking for the best doorway to stand in. But in another instant, she realized that the domed ceiling was intended to split. It was sliding apart to reveal --

 

Oh, God, Buffy thought.

 

Thousands. Thousands upon thousands of people.

 

The Council Chamber was, in fact, only the center of an even vaster amphitheater -- one now filled by thousands of the drab-garbed people she'd seen in her trek through London.

 

Once, years ago, back when he was still married to her mother and took some interest in her life, Buffy's father had done some legal work for the Los Angeles Rams; he'd made friends with his clients, as a savvy lawyer should, and had received some special passes. Though Buffy's interest in football was approximately as vast as her interest in the migratory habits of the giant auk, she had leaped at the chance to go to the game and spend time alone with her dad. He had been able to take her onto the sidelines, right there in the center of the stadium. Buffy hadn't really been impressed by her proximity to players she didn't know and a game she didn't understand; however, she could still remember that feeling of awe at looking up and seeing tens of thousands of people, all packed together in one living, swirling, screaming mass.

 

This, Buffy decided, was much the same thing. Except that the people weren't looking at the Rams; they were looking at her. And instead of screaming, they were eerily quiet.

 

"Goodness gracious," Agatha whispered.

 

"Allah akbar," Noor breathed.

 

"Damn," Buffy said.

 

"People of London!" Ishak said, his voice suddenly ringing out, magisterial, echoing within the enormous theater. "We have good news for you today. Perhaps the best news we have ever been able to offer you. You have long benefited from the protection of a Slayer." He gestured grandly at Sky, who held herself even taller. "Now, you will benefit from the protection of five more Slayers -- five of the greatest Slayers in all history!"

 

As if cued, the people began to cheer. And scream. And leap. This is nothing like the Rams, Buffy thought; this is WAY better than the Rams ever got. This -- is -- amazing.

 

Something inside her swelled at those cheers; that dark, frightened place inside her, the place even Angel couldn't fill, seemed to be bathed in warm, golden light. Buffy lifted her chin, felt the rush of hope and welcome raise her up.

 

Ishak began going through his spiel, glossing over the messy explanation about how they got there by listing their various noble deeds. Buffy heard, as though in a daze, her own name, her own acts. The Master -- Drusilla -- the Ascension -- the Gentlemen --

 

"She alone kept the peace in the most dangerous place on earth," Ishak said, his hand raised up as if holding a weapon. "She alone defeated the mightiest vampires of her day. She alone prevented the demons from conquering all humanity --"

 

Wait, Buffy thought. That's not right. I did it, but I didn't do any of it alone.

 

And with that the spell broke. The warm light flickered out, and once again she was just a lonely person in the middle of a large, scary cacophony. Buffy felt the blissed-out grin leave her face and tried to fight back the rage she knew threatened to replace it.

 

What about Giles? she thought. I couldn't have done any of it without Giles. Or Willow -- she's the one who got the info we needed about the Mayor and kept Glory back. And what if Xander hadn't given me CPR? The Master would've walked. Ishak is forgetting my friends, all the ones who helped, even Angel, who's standing right here. Ishak ought to tell them about my friends --

 

But that, she realized, would break the spell for those people. They needed to believe in something larger than life. And she had been just moments from believing it herself.

 

She glanced up at Angel again. His expression could only be described as one of profound relief. This time, when she gave him a weak little smile, he smiled back.

 

Ishak was finishing his spiel about Xiaoting now, raising his arms as his chair rose just a little higher. "Tonight, they will walk among you! Tonight, they will all work to protect you! Tonight, we will begin to win this war!"

 

The cheering went from loud to deafening, and Buffy wanted to run through those wooden doors back to safety. Instead, she forced herself to look at the other Slayers. Sky, Xiaoting and Agatha looked the way she must have looked herself, just a few moments before -- grinning, triumphant. Sumiko, too, was smiling, although she understandably looked a little more dazed. But Noor was scowling more deeply than ever.

 

Buffy forced herself to stand straight as the lights dimmed and the ceiling began to swing shut once more.

 

********

 

"You've two hours until patrol," Frances fussed as the Slayers were ushered back toward the living areas of the Keep. "You should eat and get partnered up."

 

"Partners?" Xiaoting said. Her voice was still slightly dreamy.

 

"You don't expect to patrol alone, do you?" Frances asked. "Far too risky. Normally, we will accompany you as your Watchers. But the Council thought it would be good for you girls to partner one another tonight. Early on, before the sun's entirely set, you won't get much slaying done anyway. People will be so eager to meet you."

 

"Perhaps we should have arranged a reception line," Agatha said in the same dazed tone.

 

"If all this publicity makes it harder for us to slay, what's the point?" Buffy said. Nobody seemed to hear.

 

"Keeling, a moment, please?" Frances wheeled around from them and lit up upon seeing Ishak approaching, splendid in his robes despite his age and small size.

 

"Ishak. Of course, sir. What did you want to speak about?"

 

"Not you, Keeling," he said, kindly enough. "Buffy. If she's got a moment."

 

"Nothing but time," Buffy shrugged. When Ishak and Frances kept looking at her blankly, she sighed. "Yes, I have a moment. Many moments."

 

"The -- the Slayers do need to eat," Frances said uncertainly.

 

"Then I'll have her supper brought to my Hall. How's that?"

 

"Fine by me," Buffy said. She went to Ishak's side and walked with him slowly down the corridor. People who passed them were staring openly, some vaguely awestruck; if Buffy hadn't just been through the ceremony in the Chamber, she would have been flattered. Instead, she muttered to Ishak, "I didn't do it alone."

 

"What's that?"

 

"All that slaying and protecting I did. You kept saying I did it alone. But I had a lot of help. My Watcher, and Angel, and all my friends."

 

"I don't doubt that," Ishak said, gesturing as they came to a door. She thought he was pointing at it grandly, but then she realized he was holding his palm to a lock. The door slid open to reveal a room with a long table and big chairs, a cross between a boardroom and a dining hall. He motioned to one of the chairs -- not the head -- and Buffy took her seat. He placed himself at the head of the table, though it appeared they would be dining alone.

 

"If you didn't doubt it, why didn't you say it?" Buffy persisted.

 

"The explanations are complex," Ishak said. "And it is difficult to communicate a complexity to thousands of screaming people."

 

"They manage just fine on the Lilith Tour," Buffy said. "I mean, when Sarah McLachlan sings 'Full of Grace,' my mind goes some amazing places --" At Ishak's puzzled expression, she sighed. "I just think we should tell the truth."

 

"You're a wonderful Slayer, Buffy. That's the main truth we wanted to tell about you and your friends."

 

Buffy was confused until she realized that, by "friends," he meant the other Slayers. "So, what's with the dinner invite? Is this a date?" she quipped. Then she felt a little queasy. "Is it?" Buffy repeated weakly.

 

To her vast relief, Ishak laughed as a woman came in, bearing their suppers on a tray. "Good heavens, no. You could be my granddaughter. Also, I rather had the idea that you were, shall we say, spoken for."

 

"Spoken for?" Buffy raised her eyebrows. "Not exactly."

 

"Then there is no relationship between you and Angel?"

 

Buffy hesitated, then took a couple bites of salad to buy time. Ishak watched her carefully, his bushy eyebrows not concealing a sharp, penetrating gaze. She said, "That's what this is about, then. Angel. You guys are -- what? Coworkers? Friends?"

 

"Friends?" Ishak said. He sounded surprised. "I do not think I can claim such. He has known me all my life -- knew my mother all her life as well. Angel held me in his hands on the day of my birth. I do not pretend to understand him -- he is a difficult man to truly know -- but I value his judgment. His perspective is one worth having on the Council I think we need to hear the things Angel has to say."

 

"So far we're on the same page," Buffy said. "Except for the whole day-of-my-birth thing, which now that I think about it was technically possible, so I won't think about it again. But why the relationship chat?"

 

Ishak looked at her carefully. "You realize that Angel has few friends in this Keep."

 

"That was starting to sink in."

 

"Did you not wonder why?"

 

"He never was Mr. Sociability," Buffy said. "But, yeah, the situation seems a little extreme. I thought -- I thought maybe Markwith had something to do with that."

 

"No, no. Markwith is an intelligent man -- resourceful, if perhaps too brash. His animosity toward Angel is a sickness he caught from others on the Council. Angel's isolation goes back before Markwith was born. Before I was born."

 

"But you're, like, 80!" Buffy said. Ishak looked a little wounded, but Buffy hurried on. "Angel's been an outcast all that time? I thought he helped the Council --"

 

"He does. He has for more than three centuries," Ishak said. "That is all that protects him now."

 

"Why do people hate him so much?" Buffy whispered. She was remembering the warmth in Angel's eyes when he'd spoken of Wesley and Cordelia. She'd never seen him like that -- happy and relaxed in the memory of friendship -- and it stung her to think that he'd spent a century cut off from it. Again.

 

"Angel is a vampire," Ishak said. "For most people, in this day and age -- when our entire lives are dominated by the terror of his kind -- that is all that need be said. They do not care to hear about his soul. They remember what he has done. They think he could do it again."

 

"Can't you change that?" Buffy said. "You're the Big Kahuna in these parts."

 

"Such colorful expressions you use. No, I cannot force others to see Angel as I see him. I continue to give him a place here. But it appears that is not enough. I sometimes fear that my position is not enough to protect him."

 

The concern on his face was genuine, and Buffy felt her stomach lurch. "They wouldn't hurt him?"

 

"Directly? I think not. But always, there is talk of casting him out of the Council. Some people out there distrust us all just because he is among us."

 

Buffy shook her head. "They're not casting him out while I'm around. Unless they cast me out too --"

 

"So," Ishak said. "You are not spoken for." When Buffy scowled at him, he looked at her with a shade of the authority he had displayed in the Chamber. "You care for Angel. I understand this. But I asked you here to warn you about his situation, how uncertain it is."

 

"I can help him," Buffy said. "If -- if everyone's jamming on the Slayer-Hall-of-Fame idea, then maybe they'll cut him some slack because of me."

 

"The other Council members are more likely to suspect him of corrupting you," Ishak said. "Your story has been told in many ways, though the years. Some people no doubt still see it as a romantic story. But most now hear it as a cautionary tale. You are the Slayer Angel seduced, betrayed and abandoned. They think he is here from guilt about your death. And now that this guilt has been removed --"

 

"That is not true," Buffy said, surprised at the chill in her own voice. "I cannot even start counting the ways in which that is not true. And if anybody wants to say differently, I dare them to come say it to my face." She realized that her fingers were tightening around her fork.

 

"Perhaps you can change their minds," Ishak said slowly. "You are clearly a -- determined young woman. But I wished only to warn you. Your association with Angel may do him more harm than good. I have already warned him to stay away from you --"

 

"Hey!" Buffy protested.

 

"-- but, of course, Angel would not listen. He said that you were all alone in the world, and that he would not deny you any help or comfort he could offer." Buffy was surprised how much that simple promise touched her. "You would do him the most good by not needing his help or his comfort. If you wish to protect Angel, you will have better luck doing so as a friend than a lover. His situation is unstable enough without anything so -- volatile -- as resuming your past romance."

 

Buffy looked down at the few remaining leaves of her salad. Everything Ishak had said made sense. Hadn't Xander thrown it in her face often enough, when she argued on Angel's behalf? "You just want your boyfriend back." No matter how many times she told him he was wrong, he never believed her. And she was never sure she believed it herself.

 

Besides, she told herself, it's not like me and Angel were exactly picking up where we left off. No, scratch that. We picked up exactly where we left off -- broken up for good. So I can have a normal life, here in the 24th century with the plagues and the vamps and the Slayer Superdome.

 

Buffy finished her meal and carefully placed her fork beside the bowl. When she looked back up at Ishak, he was smiling at her with a gentle, paternal expression that she didn't doubt for a moment. "It's not something you have to worry about," Buffy said. "Not anymore."

 

"Very good," Ishak said.

 

*******

 

"I told them I wanted you for my partner," Noor said.

 

Xiaoting and Agatha gave Buffy sympathetic glances across the training room. Buffy quickly turned to Sky and said, "So, how does this work?"

 

"I take the chatterbox here toward the north of town," Sky said, with a half-nod toward Sumiko. Xiaoting and Agatha head east. You and Noor go west. Be nice to all your screaming fans."

 

"Jealousy is so unattractive," Xiaoting said, with a quick flip of her hair.

 

Sky pretended not to hear. "Try and get yourself away from the crowds to do some Slaying. Prob'ly you won't get much chance the early part of the evening, before the sun's down. But maybe you can at least get the lay of the land."

 

"Good advice," Buffy said, and Sky actually smiled a little.

 

Frances poked her head through the door. "All right, then. Let's get you ladies armed."

 

A few minutes later, Buffy looked down at her body and sighed. "You have got to be kidding me."

 

She had a longbow in her arms, a blaster strapped to one hip, a flask of holy water strapped to the other and a quiverful of arrows slung across her back. She was allowed a stake, though she was warned severely that it was for emergencies only. For timekeeping, they had inexplicably been given pocketwatches; Buffy was fairly sure hers was older than she was. Her body felt weighed down beyond the point of slaying. "Are we getting kaiser helmets too?"

 

"We could see about helmets if you'd like," Frances said.

 

"Joking!" Buffy said.

 

The Slayers split up into their separate groups and headed for the various exits. Once Noor and Buffy were alone, Noor murmured, "I do not wish to meet my screaming fans."

 

"Me either," Buffy admitted.

 

They glanced sideways at each other, but kept moving down the hall. After another moment, Buffy said, "No offense, but it's gonna be weird, patrolling with a partner."

 

"I do not intend to patrol with a partner," Noor said. "Nor do you. Why do you think I picked you?"

 

"Tact is not your strong suit, is it?"

 

"I do not need tact. I need peace and quiet and this longbow."

 

"I knew I liked you," Buffy said.

 

"The south exit, then?"

 

"Race ya."

 

********

 

The crowds clustered at the west exit were no doubt disappointed, but Buffy didn't care. She and Noor were able to get into the thick of the city undetected. As soon as they reached a secluded corner, Noor glanced over at her and said, "We should meet here when we are through."

 

"Four hours gonna do it?"

 

Noor nodded and, with startling speed and silence, disappeared into the twilight. Buffy sighed deeply, taking in the cool night air. It was clear and crisp. Like being in the mountains instead of a city. "This is not how I thought we'd take care of pollution," she muttered as she began her patrol.

 

The sun was setting, and by the time Buffy finally saw some people, they weren't clamoring for the attention of a Slayer -- they were hurrying to their homes. They moved faster as it got darker.

 

And Buffy began to sense other things moving in the dark -- things that weren't people. Her pulse quickened, and she felt a not-unwelcome jolt of adrenaline. Finally, something that felt familiar --

 

A furry shape bounded by, hunched in an alleyway. Its greenish eyes reflecting the moonlight back at her, and she heard a faint growl. Buffy longed to rush forward, but forced herself to remember the longbow. With one fluid move, she pulled it into position, aiming by instinct. The demon leaped toward her -- and into her arrow. Buffy smiled as the demon's body flopped to the ground. Then she frowned. "Note to self: ask about cleanup crew."

 

She considered for a long moment, then took up her blaster and fired. The demon burst into satisfying flames. "Cancel note to self."

 

Three hours and five dead baddies later, Buffy decided she had the hang of the new slaying style. The longbow was significantly less fun than the classic kick-and-punch, and the blaster was a lot more useful after the slaying than during, but she could still function. And, regardless of the methods, it was always satisfying to see a demon go limp or a vampire go poof. She allowed herself a moment of satisfaction as she strolled past the crumbling remains of the Victoria and Albert Museum. See, she said to herself, I can still slay with the best of 'em. Just took me a while to get my groove back, that's all.

 

A rustling behind her sent a cold thrill up her spine. "Groove later," she murmured. "Slay now."

 

She whirled around to see a gray-cloaked figure emerging from the dark. As fast as she could think, Buffy had the longbow aimed and fired.

 

A slim hand caught the arrow in midair, the point just inches from his chest. "Quick," said a cultured voice. "But I am quicker."

 

"Kean," Buffy said. It was not a question.

 

"Bravo!" he said, and as he drew his hood back from his face, she could see him smiling -- almost beaming. He was tall -- not so tall as Sky, but not far off -- and his body was so thin and angular that he appeared to have been stretched. His reddish hair began at a line that had receded back somewhat from his face, creating a sharp widow's peak in the process. He had angular cheekbones, a weak chin and a rather long nose. Buffy absently decided that he looked like a cross between a handsome man and a stork.

 

"So, my reputation precedes me," Kean said. "Am I so feared within the mighty Council Keep?"

 

"Sorry to disappoint you," Buffy said. "You just came up in passing."

 

Kean's face fell, and for one absurd moment Buffy almost felt bad. But he regained his aplomb quickly. "A likely story. I know well what they make of me there. They didn't bring five Slayers back from the dead because they felt safe."

 

"They didn't bring them back to worry about a costume-party reject," Buffy said. "What's with the cape, Superman?"

 

"Nietzche," Kean murmured. "An educated foe. This will be thrilling." He held his cloak out, and Buffy realized, with a start, that it was actually a shroud. "This is far more than it appears, dear Slayer. Some enchantments were worked on it centuries ago, and now it allows me to move through sunlight. To wade in holy water. A garment of death protects my undeath. Isn't the irony delicious?"

 

"My diet's pretty rich in irony as it is," Buffy said. She let the longbow drop, took her stake in her hand. "So we're gonna do this the old-fashioned way?"

 

"Don't be vulgar. I didn't come here to fight you," Kean said.

 

"Then why are you introducing yourself to a Slayer in the dead of night?"

 

"To observe you," Kean said. "To see how you walk, how you move. To hear how you speak. I'd thought you were the Victorian, but you're not, are you?"

 

"Not hardly," she said. Then she thought, yeah, great, give the guy more information.

 

"Then you're Buffy," Kean said with a delighted laugh. "Angelus' Slayer! Oh, this is brilliant. People will eat this up."

 

"Does nobody in this century have anything else to worry about besides my love life?" Buffy snapped.

 

"Sorry to disappoint you," Kean said. "You just came up in passing." He pulled back a few steps and smiled once more. "I think I've got the picture now. I don't plan on meeting you again anytime soon, Slayer."

 

"I have different plans," Buffy said.

 

"I thought you might," Kean said.

 

He had vanished before the last words stopped echoing.

 

******************

 

Chapter Ten

 

"The Tower"

 

 

"You saw this master vampire, and you did not even attempt to kill him?" Noor muttered.

 

"Hello, did I not mention firing the longbow at him? Master vamps are faster than your average projectile," Buffy replied in the same low tone.

 

"This is true," Noor said. "We will say we were separated for a few moments -- during a fight -- and this is when you saw him."

 

"That sounds plausible," Buffy agreed. "How many did you get?"

 

"Four," Noor said, lifting her chin.

 

"Five," Buffy said with a little smile.

 

Noor's look of envy kept that smile on Buffy's face until they all reported in to Frances and a sulky Sky revealed that Sumiko had slain a total of eight. Frances was still happy enough with Noor and Buffy's combined total to assign them as permanent partners.

 

"That's very troubling about Kean," Frances said. "You must take great pains not to be separated again. Or perhaps I could accompany you as well --"

 

"No," Buffy said. "We're good."

 

**

 

Buffy awoke slowly, drifting slowly up through layers of consciousness. She felt rested, relaxed -- weird.

 

She doubled over her pillow to prop up her head a bit and tried to analyze why the situation felt so odd. After all, she'd gone out, she'd slayed vamps and demons, she'd gone to bed. That was it.

 

Then Buffy thought, That's what's strange. I didn't get woken up by my alarm clock or my kid sister's Backstreet Boys CD. I don't have dishes to wash or homework to do. I came, I slew, I napped. That's all anyone expects of me. I don't know if I like it or not.

 

Except the sleeping late, she decided. I know I like that.

 

She kept lounging around, wishing vaguely that they still had cable in the 24th century, until a loud ringing sound made her sit upright in her bed and look around her apartment. The ring sounded again -- funny, it sounded just like a telephone --

 

Buffy got up and went into the front room of her quarters to find what was ringing -- and then started to laugh. There, on the plain white desk, was an old-fashioned telephone, dial and all. Giggling, she picked up the receiver. "Edna Mae, get me Floyd's barbershop," she said.

 

"Beg pardon?" Frances said. "Is this Buffy?"

 

"Yeah, sorry," Buffy said. "I didn't realize you had a sense of humor, Frances. This is pretty good."

 

"What do you mean?" Frances sounded almost glad to hear Buffy's approval.

 

"The telephone!" Buffy said. "I mean, you had to do some research to dig up something from my time like this. How did you get a phone line hooked up, though?"

 

"Buffy -- the telephone isn't a joke. It's how we speak to one another. We installed one for you last night. They did use telephones in your time, you said --"

 

"Well, yeah," Buffy said, bemused. "But even by my time, we had cellular and digital and stuff. Don't you guys have, like, Star Trek communicators by now?"

 

"Technology became less of a priority 150 years ago," Frances said, a little more coolly. "We don't really have the resources to develop anything new. We use what's simplest to repair and maintain from what went before. Telephone technology can be built. But most wireless technology -- we still know how it works, but we don't have the resources."

 

"You're still using the old stuff. Makes sense." Buffy said. "Now I am slightly less scared that the computers still use Windows."

 

"The computer parts are the most difficult to replace," Frances said. "We still have parts in storage. When those run out -- well, we'll think of something. I wanted to tell you that the Council have decided to hold a trial today. The people are in high spirits after yesterday's announcement; they need to let off a little steam."

 

"A trial?" Buffy said. "How's that going to be fun for the whole family? Are talking about some O.J.-style craziness? Because that's just going to get people even more wacky."

 

Frances was quiet for a moment, then continued on as if Buffy had not spoken. "This is a vampire trial, Buffy. The people very much rely upon them. And our Slayer frequently officiates. Markwith suggested that you girls should get used to sharing in the duties."

 

"Vampire trial? Officiate?" Buffy had a vague image of herself yelling, Hear ye, hear ye. "Do I get a gavel?"

 

"We'll give you what you need. The trial begins in two hours, so, be there on time."

 

"Okey-doke," Buffy said. "Where do you keep these vamps locked up, anyway?"

 

**

 

The Tower of London looked every bit as imposing as it had 350 years ago, Buffy decided, and no doubt as imposing as it had looked for the centuries beforehand. The last time she'd been here, she'd been pretending to be really excited about queueing up with her mother to see the Crown Jewels.

 

"Wonder who made off with the Star of India," Buffy muttered as she walked through the throng of Watchers crowding inside.

 

"Wouldn't much matter." Buffy whirled about, then relaxed as she saw Angel at her side. He continued, "In a society where people struggle for food and survival, jewels are just rocks."

 

"You have lost none of your sneakiness," Buffy said. "How did you get inside? Sunny day out there. Did you take the Tube?"

 

Angel's face actually looked more pale, which for him was remarkable. "Buffy, vampires have been swarming to London for 150 years, all looking for nests with no threat of sunlight. The Underground isn't exactly open for business anymore."

 

"Good point," Buffy frowned. "So how did you get here?"

 

"Came here last night," he said simply. "I figured they'd bring you here to watch."

 

"What's with the idea of a vampire trial?" she said, falling into step by his side. "Is this more of same stuff as yesterday? Just, you know, showing off so people can cheer?"

 

"That's not how I'd put it, but you're exactly right. You've caught onto the game pretty quickly, Buffy. Most people here never do. But you're smarter than that."

 

"Does the word 'duh' come to mind?" She gave him a sideways smile. "You really thought all that show would get to me, yesterday."

 

"It's heady," Angel said. "I've seen it get to people before."

 

"Not me." Buffy tossed her hair as they walked into a larger common area, one filled with regular people. "I don't get caught up in --"

 

"Slayer!" a man cried, pointing to her. "Another of the Slayers who has returned!"

 

A woman nearby cried out. Within moments, she was surrounded by smiling people who kept calling, "Slayer!" "Buffy!" "Slayer!" Buffy looked around wildly, trying to get a glmpse of Angel amid the throng; she caught sight of him slowly moving away through a crowd that parted to avoid him.

 

"Slayer, will you hold this child?" a woman said, holding out her infant.

 

"You want me to babysit?" Buffy said with a worried frown.

 

The people all laughed. "I want her to be able to say that she was held by a Slayer," the mother said. "One of the great Slayers of all time."

 

"She's probably going to be able to say she was dropped on her head by a Slayer," Buffy muttered as she took the infant in her hands. The baby, perhaps sensing Buffy's profound unease, began screeching the moment her mother let go. This prompted the woman to fetch her back after only a moment, to the vast relief of everyone involved.

 

An older man held out an arthritic, twisted hand. "Can you not pray for my healing, Slayer?"

 

"I -- I can pray," Buffy said. "But I don't heal anything. Honestly. I so don't."

 

He didn't seem to believe her, just kept holding out his hand. After a moment, Buffy reached out and touched it, feeling creepier than she ever had in her life. "My prayer's no better than yours," she warned him.

 

"You are the Slayer," he said, content.

 

Buffy pushed her way out of the crowd and toward the center of the common area. A few hundred people were circling an area marked off by low wooden benches. One corner, instead of being closed, opened onto a path that led to a heavy door in one of the walls. The energy in the room was -- strange, Buffy thought. Half exhilaration, half -- something darker. At the edge created by the benches were the other Slayers. Xiaoting and Agatha seemed delighted by the attention they were getting. Sky seemed as though she would be happier with her attention if she didn't have to share. Sumiko looked more confused than ever. "This place is a madhouse," Buffy said. "How come we're not back in the Chamber?"

 

"If they've got a real bastard, one it took 'em a while to catch, they'll do the trials there," Sky said. "That's only when they know they can draw the full crowd. Small fry like these three? Scarcely even worth the Tower. Wouldn't even be this crowded if we weren't here."

 

A voice called out, "Silence!" Buffy looked to see Markwith standing atop one of the wooden benches. The hundreds of people gathered there fell quiet at his word, and Buffy shivered again. "Bring forth the first prisoner."

 

Two guards dragged forth a female vampire, in full vamp face; she was struggling against the manacles that bound her wrists together. But from her slow step and reflexes, Buffy realized that the female vamp was either exhausted, injured or drugged.

 

"The vampire Moreen has, for three hundred years, savaged the people of Ireland and Great Britain," Markwith began. "Her murders have included the young, the innocent, the elderly --"

 

As he droned on, Sky stepped forward slightly. Buffy realized that Sky had a good old-fashioned stake in her hand. "Watch and learn, girls," Sky whispered.

 

When Markwith had finished his spiel, he drew himself up to his full height. Sky pulled her arm back. "The vampire is guilty of crimes beyond number. But this court has witnesses and proof of the following seven crimes: the death of Michael Campbell --"

 

Sky plunged the stake into Moreen's gut. The vampire shrieked in pain, and the crowd began to cheer.

 

"The death of Jane Campbell --"

 

Sky stabbed Moreen with the stake again, this time in the shoulder. More screaming. More cheering. People were yelling themselves hoarse, their eyes lit up with a feverish glare. And Buffy -- who had once beheaded a vampire with an Exacto knife -- felt her stomach turn.

 

"The maiming of Arthur Corby --"

 

The stake slammed into the vampire's thigh. Moreen shrieked, the sound coming out of her mouth inhuman in more ways than one. Vamps bled slowly, but blood was pooling on the ground now. Buffy looked away, caught a glimpse of Agatha, who was beginning to seem green.

 

This isn't slaying, Buffy thought. This is torture.

 

A little voice inside her head said, Don't get so proud. You've beaten the truth out of vamps before. You held a crucifix inside a vampire's mouth one time and listened to her scream, didn't you?

 

I did that to save Willow and Giles and Cordy, Buffy thought. I did what I had to do.

 

This -- this is for people to enjoy.

 

"And last -- for the murder of Catherine Baker -- this court sentences you to death."

 

As Markwith said the word "death," Sky finally staked Moreen the vampire through the heart. She cried out one last time and exploded into dust. The crowd cheered its loudest yet. Sky sauntered back to the Slayers and held out the stake. "So, who wants to go next?"

 

To Buffy's surprise, Sumiko took the stake and stepped forward. The guards were already bringing out the next vamp.

 

Sumiko apparently didn't get the whole "wound for each crime" idea, and so Sky forcibly took the stake from her after the second victim was too speedily dispatched. Sumiko didn't look at all happy about Noor taking her place in the center. "Bloodthirsty creature, isn't she?" Xiaoting whispered.

 

Buffy wanted to agree. But she couldn't quite ignore the memory of Sumiko stroking Buffy's hair and singing while Buffy wept.

 

Maybe, Buffy thought desperately, maybe she's just like me. She -- she just hated it, and wanted to end it --

 

But Sumiko's placid face showed no sign of the nauseated disgust Buffy knew showed on her own.

 

When the third victim was dust -- after a ghastly eleven strikes -- the crowds, apparently sated, began filtering outside, laughing and talking as though they'd been to a play. Markwith came to the Slayers, smiling benevolently. "Well done. You've caught on quickly. Perhaps next time we can get the other three involved too, hmm?"

 

"I'll pass," Buffy said quickly.

 

"I -- I think I need to lie down," Agatha said. Xiaoting quickly took her arm for support.

 

Markwith said nothing about their reluctance, but he patted Sumiko approvingly on the shoulder. She seemed to understand the gesture and actually gave him a small smile. "You've got another few hours before sundown," he said. "Training? Or would you prefer to rest for a bit in the gardens?"

 

"Gardens," Agatha said faintly. "Yes."

 

"I'm -- I'm gonna stay here for a bit," Buffy said.

 

"Of course you are," Markwith said. "Come."

 

With that, he drew the other Slayers outside with him. Buffy was now all alone in the execution block, save for one other.

 

"You hated it," Angel said from his place across the room.

 

"You thought I wouldn't?" Buffy asked. She lowered herself to sit on the floor; she felt as though she'd been slaying for hours, or running -- worn out and miserable.

 

"I hoped you would," Angel said. He walked toward her. "They started these up about a century ago. To improve morale, they said. I don't think teaching people to applaud torture improves anything."

 

"Why didn't you stop them?" Buffy said. "You're on the Council --"

 

"I'm one man," Angel said. "Back then, I had more influence than I do now. But not enough to override an impassioned majority. I actually lost a lot of ground arguing that we should show mercy to vampires. Strangely enough, they saw it as self-interest."

 

 

 

"I kept asking myself why I cared," Buffy said. "I mean, I've killed hundreds of vamps. Thousands, probably. I'm just making the dead act their age, you know? But this isn't the same."

 

"No, it's not." Angel knelt by her side. "It frightens me, that we do this. At first, I thought it might lead to mistreatment of human prisoners, eventually. That once it became all right to torture anyone, it might be all right to torture anyone."

 

"Has that happened?"

 

"Not yet," Angel said. He was studying her face, and Buffy wondered what he was trying to see. Then he said, carefully, "This is how Spike died."

 

Strange, that it could hurt. That it could hurt that much. "Spike? They did this -- to Spike?"

 

"Only about forty or fifty years ago," Angel said.

 

Spike. Arrogant, obnoxious, funny Spike, dragged into this room drugged and humble. Denied a chance to do the one thing she knew he wanted most -- go out fighting. "You didn't save him?"

 

Angel didn't ask her why he should want to do such a thing. Instead, he shrugged and sighed. "How? They captured him and charged him with the murders of two Slayers; he was guilty. Hell, he was proud of it. That thing in his head that kept him from hurting people -- that had shorted out about two centuries before. He was a killer again. I couldn't have helped him, and it would have been wrong to try." More softly, he said, "But I wanted to."

 

"Why? Why didn't you want him dead?"

 

"He was -- a part of my history," Angel said. After a pause, he added, "He was the last person who remembered you."

 

Buffy hesitated, then said, "He loved me."

 

"I know. He told me."

 

"You guys talked about this?" She laughed, a broken sound that rang hollow in her own ears. "That could not have gone well."

 

"Not the first time. We were both sick with grief, and furious with each other. We had some battles royal about you. But as time went on -- sometimes he just wanted to talk about you. Sometimes I did too. We'd call truce, meet up, get drunk and sentimental about your smile. We were pathetic, and we knew it. Didn't stop us." Angel laughed ruefully. "Of course, after he became a danger again, there was no more of that. Until the night before he died. They wouldn't let me in to see him, but they let us speak."

 

"Over the phone," Buffy said quietly.

 

"Right. And we talked about you then. I don't know what else was in Spike's twisted heart, Buffy, but you were still a part of him, all that time later. We talked about you that one last time. We argued about the color of your eyes."

 

"Who was right?"

 

"Neither of us, actually," Angel said. "Sorry."

 

"That's okay," Buffy said automatically. She sat there for a moment longer, trying to take it in. "I hate that they did this to him. I hate it so much. And I don't know why."

 

"I hate it too," Angel said. "And your guess is as good as mine."

 

**

 

"We kill vampires," Noor said that evening as she and Buffy, again armed to the nines, walked down a long corridor toward the exits. "We kill them however we can. Why do you think this one way is a bad way?"

 

"It's different," Buffy insisted as she tightened the drawstring of the pouch containing her holy water. "You know it's different."

 

"Yes," Noor said. "It is different in that I can kill the vampire, and the vampire cannot kill me. I like this difference."

 

"Killing them is one thing," Buffy said. "Torturing them so other people can have fun? That's another. And I don't like it."

 

"I do not care for that part of it," Noor said. "But after I have sworn to kill a creature, what does the method matter?"

 

"I think it does matter," Buffy said quietly. The exit doors slid open before them; patrol had begun later tonight, so the people who had thronged outside last time had long since fled to home and safety. "We get the west this time. Same drill as last night?"

 

Noor nodded, and the two of them walked on together in silence until they were a few blocks from the Keep. Buffy glanced up and noted an old, crumbling sign. "Okay. We meet up back here at Grosvenor Square in four hours. Got it?"

 

"Four hours," Noor said, before running off eagerly into the night.

 

Buffy strolled down the street more slowly, considering what Noor had said before.

 

Vampire Slayers slay vampires, she thought. Hence the job description. I'm not called Buffy the Vampire Rehabilitator. Though maybe, what with Angel and Spike going all mushy, I could be.

 

Spike. Her stomach still clenched with disgust every time she thought about him dying like that -- humiliated and broken and captive. It was the last thing he would ever have wanted.

 

Like any of us get what we want, Buffy thought with a piercing pang of bitterness. Giles didn't want to end up wasting away because his irresponsible Slayer went off and got herself killed. Dawn didn't want to be a Key some creepy bitch goddess needed to unleash Hell Mom didn't want to fight so hard for her life -- just to -- to die there on the sofa --

 

Buffy dropped her head as her eyes began to fill with tears.

 

WHOMP!

 

The pain smacked her hard across her whole back, knocking her breath out and her balance off. Buffy turned her fall into a roll and managed to come up on her feet in a fighting stance. An orangey, scaly demon hissed at her, the ridges around his neck bristling. The claws on his hands were glistening with blood, and she realized she could feel stripes of bright heat across her back.

 

The demon pounced forward, and Buffy somersaulted back, putting some power into it. A couple of good handsprings and she was 15 feet out, in firing range. She shouldered her longbow and fired; the arrow struck Orangey Demon in the side. He hissed again, but kept slowly moving toward her.

 

Buffy fired once more; this time the arrow hit him squarely in the forehead. Orangey Demon stumbled back -- then righted himself and jumped forward again.

 

Skittering away from him, Buffy frowned. "Okay," she said. "Guess that's not where you keep your brain. Assuming you have one."

 

She tried the blaster, firing off a couple of quick rounds. The bolts hit him, singing his orangey scales black and making him roar with outrage, but he just leapt toward her again. Buffy jumped over him, far enough to get some distance.

 

This has got to work sooner or later, Buffy told herself. Just keep at it --

 

Then she gasped as she saw the shape of a woman coming around the corner -- and saw Orangey Demon see her too.

 

Orangey Demon sprang toward the woman in the shadows, and Buffy ran after him. New methods be damned, she thought; she needed to kill that thing now and to do it the way she knew best.

 

As Orangey Demon tackled the now-screaming woman, Buffy tackled him; she could only have weighed a fraction of what he did, but she managed to knock him off his intended victim. The demon slashed at her, and Buffy put up her hands to block him. As his claws made contact with her palms, she cried out -- and grabbed on.

 

With one swift jerk, she snapped off one of his claws.

 

Ornagey Demon shrieked with outrage. Buffy stuck out her lip. "Ooooh, bummer," she said. "You broke a nail."

 

She tightened her grip around the claw -- and stabbed the demon in the eye.

 

Howling piteously, the demon stumbled backward, clutching feebly at the claw in its face until it fell over backwards, either dead or unconscious. Buffy took her blaster and fired at him several times until finally he caught on fire.

 

"That thing would not die," she said. "That was like a Rasputin demon or something."

 

"For your information, it was a Gryra demon," said the woman behind her.

 

Buffy recognized the voice, winced and turned around.

 

Standing behind her, uninjured but furious, was Frances.

 

I am so busted, Buffy thought.

 

***************************

 

 

PART THREE



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