A Star in the Night Sky
A Buffy Universe Story
by VampSlayer
The slow drip of water echoed in this place far below the Earths surface. There was no smell, no light, save the artificial one they used to guide themselves ever deeper into the cold, dank cavern. Slow and meticulously they made their way down ever further, until Giles was sure he had lost all bearing and direction.
Just before he had lost all patience and started to turn to Willow in order to end this ordeal, as he had already done several times, the tightly closed tunnel suddenly opened into a wide, rocky foyer. Giles felt a sudden rush of air, as if they had stepped back into the dense wilderness that had surrounded this ancient caverns entrance.
"Well, isn't that a bit uncanny. You say you found this place how, exactly?" He didnt turn, too caught up in inspecting his surroundings. Adjusting his spectacles, he noticed the walls were glowing with what looked like tiny, green teardrops.
He turned back to Willow, more curious as to why she said nothing, and noticed her face was a concentrated mask of awareness and concern.
"What is it, Willow? You sense..."
She cut him off sharply, an air of real concern in her voice. "Giles, I don't mean to be rude, but the amount of willpower I need to hold us in this place is a strain even for me. Could we maybe save the question and answers for later, and get on with why we're here?"
"Hold us in this?" With her sharp-as-a-razor look, he silenced himself with a finger, suddenly aware of his returning uneasiness. After a moment of thinking about it, he decided if he were to honor Willow's request, he needed to ask at least one more question.
Hesitantly, he asked "Um, Will, would you be so kind as to point me in the right direction?"
Sighing, but never averting her gaze from the spot she had focused on somewhere on the wall in front of her, she pointed just over Giles shoulder. "It's right behind you."
Not yet turning, Giles mumbled to himself. "Of course. How cliché."
With a deep breath, he turned, a firm grip on the hilt of the sword in his right hand, ready and willing to defend himself if needed.
He was met with the gaze of a creature standing a foot taller than him, its face a smooth, featureless mask with grey, cold eyes. The head was round, its skin an eerie blue that held no sign of any distinctive marks whatsoever. It looked Giles up and down a moment, seeming to take notice of his sword with little care or dread, then turned and levitated slowly to the center of the foyer.
"He said you wont need the sword." Willow's voice held a hint of humor. "Called you a typical American." She giggled.
Giles sighed a little. "Indeed. Let's just get to it, shall we. And why didn't I hear him say...never mind." He shook his head, again mumbling to himself. "Besides, if I were American, I'd be carrying a gun instead of this bloody sword."
Giles stepped towards the center of the cavernous room, which seemed even more aglow with those strange tear-shaped crystals. Brushing by one of the walls, he almost reached out to touch them, convinced they'd be wet to the touch. But Willow had already warned him that this was a sacred place for the Demon, and any attempt to disturb its surroundings would cause them to fail in their quest.
Quelling his curiosity, while also questioning yet again why he had allowed Willow to convince him this was a good idea, he moved towards where the demon now stood motionless. Peering over a small rocky outcropping, Giles noticed for the first time that there was a large pool of standing water at the center. Dark as night and only visible by the slight ripple here and there, it resembled a giant pit in the center of the room.
"How appropriate. So, would you mind asking the faceless mime here what I'm to do with this, or should I just lean over and stick my face under water and hope I get what I need that way?"
Willow smirked, her frown drawn inwards with a sort of Don't hate me look, before she again turned her gaze to the wall.
"Oh for heavens sake." He sighed heavily, looked at the still motionless demon who said nothing, and then back at Willow. Who obviously was to be no help at all.
Kneeling, he resigned himself to trust in Willow. Her abilities with the mystical arts now were far beyond what he himself had ever dabbled in. And she had been absolutely sure that this would be the only way they could recover the memories he needed, in order to close the book once and for all on the ways of the old, now deceased Watchers Council.
It wasn't sentimentality; Giles simply abhorred a vacuum of history. If they were to start with a clean slate, the truth of how the council had operated needed to be documented. And since their records had mostly been obliterated by the First, more unconventional means had become necessary.
He stared into the liquid abyss, and let out a long breath. Placing his glasses on the edge of the pool, he sighed, "Fine, but if I drown, I'm coming back to haunt the bloody lot of you."
With a few quick breaths, and one final large one, Rupert Giles lowered his head into the murky depths, sure that hed see only darkness.
And never aware of how right he'd be.
June, 1963
Chicago, Illinois
Snapping awake from the nightmare she had been having, Saylee Aymara screamed aloud, shocked to find herself in a crowded street, surrounded my staring faces. And in the arms of a strange, handsomely rugged young man with piercing brown eyes.
"What? Take your hands off me!" She pushed away, stumbling slightly, almost falling into the crowd of faces. Faces not of concern, she suddenly realized. No, these people were angry. And suddenly, it hit her.
"Damn." By instinct, she glanced around, searching for a small space she could slide her small, five-foot-one frame through. Her head was killing her, her arms aching, and she was just a little more than queasy. Spotting daylight between two large, older men, she took a step to leap out of harm's way.
Only to collapse a few inches from where she had been standing, back into the arms of the man who had been holding her. Leaning close to her face, he whispered, "Be still, child. I mean you no harm. I'm here only to help you. Now be good just a moment and play along, won't you?"
Raising his voice, he bellowed above the now audibly angry crowd of bystanders. "It's alright. I'm a police officer. I will deal with this. Please, stand back and give me room."
A voice came from the crowd. "She stole my wallet!"
"She's nothing more than a thief and a beggar," another chimed in. "Get her off the street. Kids don't belong here, wandering the alleys."
"She's the one that's been stealing from my stockrooms every night. I know it. Let us teach her a lesson, mister."
But the man holding her upright only held up his free arm, palm outstretched. "There will be none of that. Now, please, step out of the way, and if you have anything you wish to say, you can add it to my report. Down at the station." With those words, the crowd began to break apart, some throwing their hands into the air, continuing their protest even as they walked away.
He looked down at her, winked, and whispered again. "Lets go, then, shall we?"
She couldn't say a word; only drag herself along with him, half supported by his solid frame, as she brushed by faces she didn't recognize. Doesn't matter, she thought. They know what I am. And they hate me. Hell, I hate me.
She felt a small tear trail down her cheek before her eyes became heavy, and the world went silent.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Slowly, the world began to return, a hazy grey, and she was aware of the soft, down pillow below her head. The smell of clean sheets filled her nostrils, and her body was warm for the first time in....well, it had been a really long time. So long, she had forgotten what a real bed was made of.
Sleeping in a car since she had been six, Saylee had long given up on the idea that she'd ever feel soft sheets on a firm bed below her, or have a warm blanket to sleep under.Those were luxuries only good little girls with Mommies who cared about them could have. And since hers had always been a drug addict and eventually disappeared altogether, Saylee's dreams were full of street sounds, cold winds blowing in from the river, and the always strange nightmares.
The thought made her sit up with a sudden realization that this couldn't be real. To her right, she saw the glow of the city through the long white curtains blowing lazy in the breeze. To her left she could feel the warmth of a fireplace, and the smell of burning wood. It was distinctively different than the burning papers she often warmed her hands on.
She shook her head to clear the fog of sleep, and felt no pain where she'd been struck. Reaching back with her left hand, she felt the back of her head for the spot the rock had hit (she was sure it had been a rock), but sifting through her short, brown hair, she felt only a slight bump. But that couldn't be right, could it?
Okay, Saylee, it's time to wakey from the nice little dreamland and start figuring out where the hell you are. She stood, surprised to still be wearing the same dark brown suede jeans and light blue t-shirt she had been wearing now for a few weeks. Looking down, she could see the same old, worn out tennis shoes still on her feet. Well, at least some things never change, she thought and chuckled half-heartedly.
"I thought it best to leave those things for last." The voice startled her; deep and quiet, a man standing no more than a few feet taller than her stepped from around the corner. "I find it can be quite..." He paused, as if searching for the right word, while also studying her frame. "Presumptuous for a Watcher to choose what to buy his Slayer to wear. Granted, I am new to these things." He walked over to where she stood, not more than a few inches from the bed, and handed her a cup and saucer. "You want to be careful, that is rather hot tea. Would you care for..."
She tossed the saucer and cup clear across the room, flinching slightly at the crashing noise as it shattered against the stone frame of the fireplace. "What I want is to know why you've kidnapped a sixteen-year-old girl and brought her to your...your...wherever the hell is this." Her temper was beginning to flare, as it did anytime she became scared; only a few things unnerved her these days, and strange men and strange places were at the top of the list.
"I would expect a girl such as you to be more aware of her surroundings. We are in my hotel suite in the center of the city. If you wish to know more, I'll need something from you," he replied.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." She backed up a few steps to the window, watching hesitantly the strange man with a slightly weird accent, before brushing the curtains aside and peering over the windows ledge. Sure enough, the city lay far beneath her, the sounds barely audible to her, but still strangely assuring to her senses. Brushing back the wisp of dark, brown hair that had fallen over her face, she narrowed her gaze, resolved to find a quick way out of this.
She turned back to him. "What do you mean a girl such as me? You don't know a thing about me and by the way, don't think I missed that little thing about being a watcher. I know it's the sixties and I'm not completely out of touch with the times, man, but I'm not that kinda chick. You hear me? So if this is about some sort of sex thing..."
"Hush!" His words were sharp and felt like a slap to her face. "What you are suggesting is ludicrous and insulting. And you're not listening. Typical of you American girls."
"Yeah, well, typical of you...you...whatever you are, to be all full of accents and tea. You still haven't told me why I'm here, and who you are." She felt strong for a minute, and grabbed hold of the feeling. Her legs felt solid, her breathing rhythmic in her chest.
Her captor chuckled slightly, a sound she found herself not entirely disliking. "You are most certainly a Slayer. I feel we've gotten off on the wrong foot. Perhaps we could go downstairs, have a nice cup of tea in the restaurant in the lobby, and I will explain everything. You will have plenty of questions, and I will try and answer them."
She interrupted him. "A Slayer?" This time the word didn't escape her attention, and the nightmare she'd been having just before she awoke, on the street, in this man's arms, came rushing back clear as day. Her mind wandered and she looked to the floor, her heart suddenly feeling like a hammer trying to beat its way from her chest. "I know that! I mean, I've had dreams..."
"Yes, I'm sure you have. And I'll show you why. But one thing you must know, Saylee."
She looked up at him, doubt and fear and questions reflected in her deep, blue eyes.
"You are the Chosen One now, and he will come for you. Your nightmares were, unfortunately, very real. And if we are to survive, child, we must start preparing. Now."
Her mouth opened as if to ask a question, but the words hung in her throat. Sighing, she resolved herself to go with him, and find out how it was he knew all these things about her. What was the worst that could happen? She was a thief and a pretty damn good one, most days. If all else failed, she could make a run for it a lot easier downstairs, surrounded by people and maybe swipe some cash on her way out.
Just as she reached the door, he held out his hand gently, holding it there as if they had never been introduced. Which, of course they hadn't really.
Placing her tiny hand in his, she looked him in the eyes, noticing once again how they seemed to peer into her as if she were a window. The feeling should have unnerved her.
He smiled and said, "My name is Quentin, by the way. Quentin Travers. I am your Watcher."
~~~~~~~~~
Saylee rolled out of the way, her shoulder catching a glancing blow from her right. She winced a bit; not from pain, but more from shock. Her assailant never paused; instead, she shot an annoyed glance over her shoulder at the Slayer, before spinning defiantly back around, her elegant blond hair flowing behind her. The whole scene was surreal, and as hard as she tried, she just couldn't grasp the entirety of what she found herself in.
Amidst the noisy crowd, she managed to locate Quentin, walking just in front of her, confidently as usual. Slowly, tentatively, she reached for him, snagging his coat sleeve, causing him to turn.
"Yes?" His smile was cocky, and didn't help ease her nerves.
"No way. No way. No! Way!" She planted her feet, and small as she was, attempted to seem immoveable.
But Quentin simply adjusted his tie a bit, looked around, and returned that cocky smile. "Come now, child. If we want to maintain the miniscule level of normalcy, you must appear to actually be normal."
She looked around nervously again, biting her lower lip. "Yeah, but can't I be normal, like, somewhere else? High school just ain't me, alright? I've tried to explain..."
"You've explained yourself perfectly clear, Ms. Aymara. But try as we might, the things we fear have a way of becoming unavoidable. I simply don't have the resources to tutor you proper, and besides, suspicions would only grow if we did not enroll you. There's only so many hotels in the city; eventually, someone's going to call the authorities on suspicions that we..."
She held up her hand, and made a sickly face. "Let's not finish that sentence, kay. And why cant we just go somewhere and keep training? I mean, you say this Nefarianthing is looking for me, right?"
He nodded, glancing around nervously, searching for someone who might have heard her. But American High Schools were chaos in motion; no one seemed the least bit interested in the two of them.
Saylee continued, unabated. "So, what's the deal with sticking me here? I mean, won't that just put innocents in harm's way, and all that?"
Quentin edged closer to her, his face holding no sign of amusement. "Nefarian does not work that way. He will not attack you in the middle of the day, or in a crowd. You are safer here. Besides, I will be just down the hall at all times, posing as a substitute teacher of this school's science lab."
She shook her head, annoyed. "Fine. Who am I to argue with the almighty Watcher guy?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Quentin only turned and began walking down the hallway again. "But you can drop the whole child thing. You're only a little older than I am. And I am not a child."
He stopped, turned back to her, his eyes ever vigilant and burrowing. For a moment, she thought she saw a bit of sadness in his young face, but he quickly recovered before saying, "No, you are a warrior. That's why this should be a piece of cake."
Following him, she adjusted her backpack and kept her eyes to the floor. A piece of cake, he says. Passing a classroom, she glanced in curiously, and made eye contact with a cute, brown-haired boy who smiled back. She stopped for a moment, just long enough to watch him write something down on a piece of paper. He waited until the teacher in front of him had turned, then held up the paper to his friends, before turning it toward her so she could read it.
Squinting, Saylee struggled to make out what it said. Her reading skills were mediocre at best, having taught herself from age seven and up with newspapers and street signs. But she didn't need to really know what it said; the boys laughing told her all she needed.
She grinned sardonically, extended her middle finger, and then walked quickly to catch up to her Watcher, liking it already.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The ground is wet, she thought as her head struck the cold, hard ground. For a second, her world went red, but she regained her composure, realizing that it was only anger, and smiled. Anger was something shed learned to control, channel, in these last few months of her training.
Placing her hands palms-down into the dew covered grass, Saylee pushed upwards, hard, knocking back her attacker. This vamp hadn't been like the rest; those she had surprised as they rose from their graves. Nope, this one had been out hunting for a mid-evening snack, and thought he had stumbled onto a one girl buffet.
She let a smile form across her lips, before looking the not-so-small vampire in the eyes. "Nice cheap shot. I'll give you that."
"Yeah. If you liked that, you'll love what else I've got for ya, sweet cheeks. How's about we have a go at it, you and me?" He smiled at the curious look in her face as she asked herself the obvious question. "Oh, that's right; I know you're a Slayer. Uh-oh. What's a girl to do?" He let his tone drip with sarcasm, cracking his thick knuckles one-by-one, before rolling his broad shoulders. Baring his teeth, he rumbled at her full force, attempting to use the element of shock to his advantage.
Only he didn't see the stake she produced suddenly in her right hand; nor did he expect her to be so swift in falling completely to the ground, flat on her back, slipping underneath his large frame, only to jump to her feet a second later, plunging the stake into his back and through to the heart with a smooth backhanded motion. Looking down, he saw the tip of it poking through his chest, just as he turned to dust.
"Well, that's for starters." Tossing the stake in the air, she swung one hip forward and caught it snugly inside the pouch attached to her belt. Popping a stick of gum onto her mouth, she started out towards the entrance of the graveyard, only to catch sight of her Watcher standing at the gate, looking on.
"So unbecoming of a young lady." He held a paper cup of coffee, the collar of his coat pulled upwards to no doubt protect him from the strong, cold wind blowing off the river just a few miles away.
"What's that? Chewing gum? Can't help it. Dustin' vamps always leaves a..." She grinned, "Dusty taste in my mouth. Besides, did you forget who you're talkin to here? I'm about as unbecoming as they come."
He handed her one of the steaming cups, taking notice of her not so appropriate attire. Her legs were covered in a dark black pair of tight hugging pants, which made sense for someone who stalked their prey at night. But her low cut, loose hanging t-shirt was not only green and red, but also lacked sleeves. She strode confidently now, comfortable in her own skin and sexuality. It made him restless but he masked those feelings well. His duties were clear.
"You really should stop doing that." He noticed her questioning look as she took a sip of the warm liquid. "Putting yourself down, I mean. You've made remarkable progress in such a short time. You are no longer the tiny street thief I found that day."
He tried not to notice the smile that creeped on her face as she looked away. Clearing his throat, he continued. "Besides, I meant the gloating, actually. And since when is it necessary to draw attention to yourself with those types of outfits?"
She smiled a second, then turned on the innocent look. "What ? I just like feeling unrestricted, is all. You try slaying vamps in a thick winter coat and mittens. Not only does it look silly..."
But Quentin had already turned and began walking up the street towards home. Or, today's home anyways. Saylee never knew where they might be tomorrow. Something about keeping their enemy off guard.
She caught up to him, and he briefly gave her a grin, before he returned to his self-important gaze he always kept when they were on a hunt. He said it was his way of staying vigilant; but she had an inkling it had something to do with the way they'd seemed to grow closer over the past few weeks. There was an attraction there, she knew it. And felt it, the same as she hoped he did. But neither knew a way to broach the subject, so they went on and on with the same daily routine; training, eating, studying, school, more training, eating, a quick nap, and then the hunt late at night.
Today had been a little different though.
"So," she said in a barely audible tone, "tell me again why we had to do that thing. Today. I mean, you kind of went over it a little fast, and I'm not saying I don't trust you. I mean you're my watcher. If I can't trust you, then, well hey, I'm pretty much just back to pickin' pockets and eating garbage." She stopped when he didn't turn around. "Right?"
Quentin slowed, and then turned. "You know the answer to that. I've taught you better. All we did today was to make it legal. I am now officially your guardian, just as it should be. I explained that to you earlier." He turned back quickly, averting her sheepish gaze. The girl had a way of making him uncomfortable, and he was almost ashamed to admit to himself that he did not entirely dislike it.
"Yeah, I guess so. But what was that part with the living will? What, you think this Nefarian's just gonna run into Chicago and bowl me over? Like I can't stop him?" Her voice was shaky, fear not easily hidden in her tone. "Just because he killed those other slayers, the ones before me, doesn't mean he can't be beat. I've got some tricks up my sleeve, just you wait."
Quentin turned around, his eyes finding hers. He hated the tears he saw forming there, as much as he hated this task that had been set in front of him almost a year ago today. Even studying her as a Potential he had known she was a delicate one; even the power of the Slayer couldn't erase all the time she'd spent fending for herself, alone and cold and despised, for no other reason than a bad lot in her young life.
"Is that what you think? Well, is it?" She shook her head, but he could tell she was unsure. He stepped closer, and against his better judgment and all of the training he'd had as a young Watcher, took her face in his hands, turning her now tear-streaked face upwards.
"You are a star in the night sky, just as every warrior and Slayer before you. The fire that burns within you is unique, even if you are part of something much, much larger. I say this not just as a watcher," he wiped a tear from her cheek, smiling warmly. "but as a man. I not only believe you can beat this demon, I know you will."
For a moment their eyes remained locked, and both held their breath, afraid of what might come next. Her heart beat so hard against her chest that she was positive he could hear it, and the tears drying on her face seemed frozen in place. Without thinking, she leaned forward, drawing her lips close to his, knowing she shouldn't; that he most assuredly wouldn't.
He simply watched her, his heart frozen, his mind a blank slate. And as her eyes closed, and her mouth came just a breath away from his own, he cursed his heritage and his duties, resolved to cast aside everything he had been told and taught from age eight.
But their lips never met; a slight tug from behind snapped Quentin from his trance, and as he looked down, he could see the tip of a very large arrow protruding from his left shoulder. Then, another tug, as he was dragged backwards, onto the ground, and away from his Slayer.
"No!!!!" Saylee screamed, as she watched him dragged from her grasp. The arrow had struck him so fast, she hadn't had time to react, and now watched helpless as the strong, black cable attached to it pulled him further from her reach. She quickly gathered herself, and looked up towards the high rising buildings surrounding them. But the street lights were blinding, and Saylee couldn't make out her assailant.
A few feet away, Quentin had stopped, his body still, the sound of groaning pain the only way she knew he was alive. Without looking at him, she yelled for him to stay still.
"No...aahh, no. Run Saylee. You must... run. It's him...it's Nefar..."
Slamming to the earth as if dropped from a plane, the demon Nefarian landed between Saylee and her Watcher, his imposing frame blocking her line of sight to him as well. When he spoke, his voice sent a chill up her spine, like nails on a chalk board, his voice bellowing over the wind as if he owned the night itself.
"No, don't run, child. This will only take a second, and I'd hate for you to miss your own brutal death."
~~~~~~~~~~
Standing much taller than she imagined, Nefarian was just as terrifying to look at in real life as he was to dream about. For one thing, she thought, why hadn't anyone told me about the wings?
In his right hand he held a crossbow, which seemed a toy in his large, talon-tipped hands. His stance bristled with strength, his skin a brightly colored red, his face a perfect imitation of every raw nightmare she'd ever had; resembling the pictures of the devil himself, he was only lacking in the horns. But to make up for it, the bridge of his nose was pierced with bones, leading to a mouth jagged with razor sharp teeth.
At least they looked that way to her. It was hard to tell from where she was standing, the lights from the surrounding street lights still blinding her a bit. She should be running right now, just as Mr. Travers had told her. But she couldn't make her feet move, and beyond staring, seemed incapable of doing little else; besides the obvious breathing hard in utter terror.
"You and I have a date, little one. I've been searching for you a long time. Longer than I had to search for your predecessors even. And you know what that's made me?" He tossed the crossbow to his feet, which were actually hooves.
She struggled to form words, but instead found herself almost giggling.
Nefarian noticed the smirk. "You find this funny?"
She suddenly couldn't help herself. "Nope. No, don't worry about it. You don't want to hear what I was going to say." She held up a hand, shaking it from side-to-side. Another giggle sneaked out from her lips.
His face suddenly changed from confidence and rage, to that of curiosity.
She looked up at him, regained her composure and said, "Uglier?" before breaking into a fit of giggles.
Nefarian only scoffed, confused at the Slayer's response. Apparently, he hadn't made his intentions clear. Enraged, he let out a high pitched roar, shattering the street lights around them, plunging the street into darkness.
And then Saylee made her move. Without a moment's hesitation, she dove back towards the cemetery's entrance and rolled end-over-end into a crouch. Her mind racing as she tried to remember everything her and Mr. Travers had gone over in their premade plans. Darting her eyes towards the back of the graveyard, she spotted a clear path to the large crypt that was her destination. Listening, she could sense her attacker nearby, his hooves not making subtle sounds on the ground below.
He had been thrown off guard for a moment, but was now searching for her.
"That wasn't even a clever one-liner, little one. But I guess it got you what you wanted. But why delay the inevitable?"
She crawled slowly along the wet ground, hugging close to the shadows of the tombstones, listening to the bellowing voice that seemed to come from everywhere all at once.
"Do you even understand your place in all this? Has your Watcher even told you? You're not destined to be some great warrior. Hell, you'll be lucky if anyone remembers you tomorrow."
The ground rumbled beneath her and Saylee knew he was getting close. In the darkness, her eyes finally adjusted, and she saw her target clearly. Just a few more yards...slowly, crawling, inching....patience, just as he'd trained her.
This was their trap, their plan all along. Visit and revisit the same cemeteries each night, until Nefarian could wait no longer. Then, it was the battleground of their choosing, and in a few seconds, the weapon of their choosing as well. Closer, closer, her heart beat fell in rhythm with her breathing, her out stretched hands so close to it.
From above, Nefarian swooped upon her in an instant, landing with a thump on the ground just in front of her. "Uh oh, denied again, Slayer. Did you think me that much a fool?"
She had had enough. With a speed surprising even her, she spun on her back and kicked hard at his left knee. Bounding forward, and onto her feet, she delivered a haymaker with every ounce of strength she had, followed by an uppercut, determined to knock him down to her level.
But he only stood still, as if she had never touched him at all. He slammed a fist into her face, knocking her backwards, shattering a grave stone with the force of her momentum.
Again he slammed downwards, his fist connecting with her abdomen this time, knocking the wind out of her. He raised his arm again, but hesitated; her small frame looked broken after only a few hits. He dared not spoil the kill so early.
Grabbing her by her neck, he lifted her off the ground, holding her close to his face, inspecting her petite features, watching as her head lulled from side-to-side in the fog of pain.
"You know, the Slayers before you, they didn't even last this long. You should consider yourself triumphant. Sort of. I am no vampire and yet you held your own."
She managed a groan, spitting blood from her mouth and drawing in a breath. "Why...tell me...that much...what is it?"
He bared his teeth again in a smile meant to stop her heart cold. "You'd think it was the infamous Slayer strength, right? That's what your Watcher thinks. That's what they always think, when a demon comes hunting their precious chosen ones."
He leaned in closer, his breath a mix of sewage and death. "Let me tell you a secret I tell them all, just before I suck the life out of them," he whispered. "It's not the strength of the Slayer; it's the innocence of the girl. Nothing tastes sweeter than the pure innocence of a human."
He leaned back, turned her so that the back of her head was facing him, and continued, aloud now, so she could hear this last part. "And Slayers are the sweetest treats by far."
He squeezed and Saylee felt the air forced from her lungs. Her ribs cracked and popped, and she knew he was killing her. In a second, he'd bite into her spine, and she'd go numb.
She had only one chance left and with every ounce of anger, willpower and stubborn rebellion she had left, Saylee threw her head backwards, smashing her skull into the demon's broad nose.
Shocked, Nefarian let loose his grip just enough, and Saylee slipped from his grasp. Falling to the ground, she quickly rolled, and grabbed hold of the weapon hidden underneath an arrangement of flowers. She turned, took aim with her sling-shot and paused just long enough to savor the amused look on her targets face.
"That? That is your secret weapon against me?" He laughed out loud, vibrating the air around them both. "You expect me to fear this...this master plan you and your Watcher hatched?"
Saylee smiled through the searing pain, then let loose, sending the gem she had loaded in the sling-shot's pouch rifling through the air, and into the forehead of the demon standing so tall in front of her.
"Nope, asshole," she replied. "We just expect you to die this time."
Though stunned, he seemed unfazed by her attack. Reaching up, he felt the gem protruding from his face, then turned towards her again, enraged that she had the nerve to continue to fight.
"I will make you suffer for this, Slayer. You don't know pain..."
"Exardesco!" Quentin yelled from behind her.
And Nefarian's head exploded in a blazing fireball; a quick flash of sputtering sparks and ash, and then his lumbering body fell to the ground, finally and forever lifeless.
Quentin Travers dropped to his knees, his left arm limp at his side. With gritted teeth, he struggled to hold Saylee's head above the ground. Her breathing was ragged, and she was losing blood internally, he could tell.
"Took you long enough," she managed to croak out. A weak grin splayed across her lips.
"Had this thing I had to do. Somebody let us get ambushed." He tried to return her smile, but his heart was sinking, and he knew there was little time to get her to a hospital. "Come on, Saylee. I need you to stand."
She grabbed hold of his jacket again and he stopped trying to stand. Her face was pale, and she looked up at him with her blue eyes, the spark he had become so fond of fading before his own eyes. "Can't this time. Stop telling me what to do."
"Saylee. I don't know what to say. I never wanted this...any of it but somehow, you..." He blinked back the tears and for a moment, forgot he was a Watcher. "I love you."
But Saylee Aymara didn't respond. Her head fell limp into his lap and her eyes lay open in a stare that told him she was gone. A lone tear streaked down her face and Quentin felt his heart fall into his stomach. Burying his face into her chest, he sobbed silently for what seemed like an eternity.
~~~~~~~~~~
"What's important here is that you did the job we sent you to do, Quentin."
The voice of his fellow Watcher, Andrew Saxton, interrupted his stoic stare. He watched slowly as Saylee's body, now covered with a white sheet, was loaded into the back of a black, windowless van.
Soon it would be loaded aboard a plane, taken to the Council's headquarters, where they would bury it in a nameless grave. It was the last time he'd ever see her; the elders were the only ones who knew where and how she'd be buried, and he was a long way off from being an elder.
"This mess can be easily cleaned up," Andrew continued. "It was clever of you to keep the battle contained. Certainly could have gotten much worse, in a city this big." He placed a hand on Quentin's shoulder, but though he could feel it resting there, he refused to acknowledge its existence.
Suddenly, a soldier dressed in black fatigues appeared, jogging to where the two of them stood. Handing Saxton a manila folder, he gave a British salute, and stood at attention. At Saxton's nod, he gave his report.
"Sir, we recovered everything of value from the subject's living quarters. Mr. Traver's files and papers were exactly where he said they were and all other evidence of the Slayer's life and existence has been disposed of. Those are the papers you asked for directly."
"Thank you, soldier. Splenid work. Feel free to lend a hand with this clean up and control, now would you?" After another salute, the soldier bounded off, yelling orders to a group of men a few yards in front of them, leaving the two of them alone, silently watching.
Until Saxton broke the silence again. "All Watchers must come to grip with the harsh reality that they will more than likely outlive their Slayer. It's a point of fact, my friend."
He held the folder in front of him triumphantly, and his tone changed from melancholy to joy. "But this...this girl, her heritage, her father that she never knew. Getting her to sign off her inheritance to you was bloody brilliant. This money will help run the Council's efforts for a good long time. The fact that she was able to defeat Nefarian...well, that's just a bonus that's going to earn you a sure promotion. You should be proud, boyo."
Quentin tore his gaze from the van, now occupied with the body of the only girl he had ever had feelings for and the disgust was evident on his face, even in the shadowy corner where they stood. "Proud, old man? And what of the Slayers before her? Those we left Watcher-less, for the sake of saving the Council. How do we live?" He stifled the choking feeling in his throat, determined no to allow anyone to ever see the grief he felt inside. "How do we do what we do, when it means the death of so many innocent girls?"
Saxton's weathered face was a mask of concentration, and he again placed a hand on Quentin's shoulder as a sign of understanding, his brow furrowed. "You will come to see, Quentin Travers, that the world we operate in has its own set of rules. Rules we cannot betray; rules that are most certainly cold, especially to those who understand nothing of what we do."
He took a deep breath, and urged Quentin alongside of him as they walked to his car. Just as they reached the door, Saxton stopped and turned back to him. "Always remember this, son. Evil plays by no set of rules and the Slayer is our only weapon. Without us, without the ability to continue what we do, they are like stars in the night sky, each one burning bright but aimlessly wandering in space. We are the direction, the guidance, for their burning light."
He climbed into the back seat, but continued, his voice flat and emotionless. "And every time one falls, there will be another to take her place. But we remain the same. That is how it's done, and how it must always remain."
Quentin shut the door closed, taking one final look towards the black van now speeding off in front of them. Saxton, noticing this, sighed and motioned for the driver to go. "You are one of us now, Quentin. Consider this your final lesson."
As they sped off, along with every soldier and cleaning crew member in tow, Quentin stood alone in the quiet of the cemetery with Andrew Saxton's words ringing in his ears. And though he wanted to, he didn't look up. As far as he was concerned, he never wanted to see the stars again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Present
Giles gasped for breath, withdrawing his face from the black pool. For a moment, he panicked as he regained his bearings. He had not been prepared for the vividness of the memories he was exposed to, nor the way in which they had played out like scenes in a movie; as if he had been inside their heads, feeling, seeing, hearing.
Willow's voice finally jolted him from his trance. "Giles Giles, can you hear me?" She had a hand on his shoulder, shaking him firmly.
He placed a gentle hand on hers, letting her know he was aware. Feeling below for where he had left his glasses, he grabbed hold of them and stood. Staring at the lenses, he shook free the water, and then wiped his face with his free hand.
Holding the glasses out in front of him, he never allowed his gaze to wander to the demon's face as he spoke. "So that's what you do here, down in the dark? These crystals. They not only resemble tears, they are tears, of a sort, aren't they?"
Deciding that he didn't really need his glasses anyways, Giles resolved to place them in his shirt pocket before turning to Willow, whose face was a mask of concern and sympathy. She had heard the sadness in his voice and knew that whatever it was her old friend had seen had been enough to bring out the Ripper in him.
"I have what I need, Willow. You can do what needs to be done."
She touched his shoulder as he turned away. "Giles, what is it?"
He turned back to face her, aware of the shame he felt for acts he never committed himself, but nevertheless, still felt an accomplice to. "We won't be needing anymore of the Council's resources. We're going to start fresh and rewrite the way things are done. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm feeling a bit out of sorts. I'd like very much to leave this place and be done with the whole ordeal."
Willow watched as he grabbed hold of the magical torch that he had used to guide himself in, and exited through the tunnel that had led them deep into the earth. Her face a solemn mask of understanding, she gave it a few moments of contemplation, before she set her gaze upon the demon still standing at the center of the large cavern. Its head was tilted sideways in a sort of questioning look, and Willow felt it try to reach out and touch her mind again, to communicate its question aloud in her head.
But she blocked its access and spoke softly aloud. "You gather pain, feed from it. These crystals are your tears of joy, the records of all those acrid memories you've reached out and stolen over a millennium. And how many of those," she stepped closer to where it stood, her eyes forming into black pools of their own. "were that of innocent, young girls? How many were the broken hearts of lovers?" She spat the words out in anger, relishing in the release of concentrated magic and the pureness of her anger.
The demon in front of her began to cower at the sound of her voice, its eyes no longer emotionless; it retreated, searching for an escape.
But too late. Willow, with the sound of one word and the wave of her hand, cascaded the cavernous hall of pain and misery with blue-white flame; and in an instant, she could feel the release of pent up agony, as spirits were finally allowed to find peace.
And above the ground, Giles heard a distant scream inside his head, but only tuned it out. He knew Willow would be beside him in a few moments, so he relished in the coolness of the forest breeze. Breathing deeply, he opened his eyes to the splendor of the sky above, littered with the light of a million stars.
And felt the grief well up inside him. In defiance of all he had once been taught to believe, he allowed himself to cry, alone there in the wilderness, as the forest lay quiet, accepting his penance.
*
by VampSlayer
The slow drip of water echoed in this place far below the Earths surface. There was no smell, no light, save the artificial one they used to guide themselves ever deeper into the cold, dank cavern. Slow and meticulously they made their way down ever further, until Giles was sure he had lost all bearing and direction.
Just before he had lost all patience and started to turn to Willow in order to end this ordeal, as he had already done several times, the tightly closed tunnel suddenly opened into a wide, rocky foyer. Giles felt a sudden rush of air, as if they had stepped back into the dense wilderness that had surrounded this ancient caverns entrance.
"Well, isn't that a bit uncanny. You say you found this place how, exactly?" He didnt turn, too caught up in inspecting his surroundings. Adjusting his spectacles, he noticed the walls were glowing with what looked like tiny, green teardrops.
He turned back to Willow, more curious as to why she said nothing, and noticed her face was a concentrated mask of awareness and concern.
"What is it, Willow? You sense..."
She cut him off sharply, an air of real concern in her voice. "Giles, I don't mean to be rude, but the amount of willpower I need to hold us in this place is a strain even for me. Could we maybe save the question and answers for later, and get on with why we're here?"
"Hold us in this?" With her sharp-as-a-razor look, he silenced himself with a finger, suddenly aware of his returning uneasiness. After a moment of thinking about it, he decided if he were to honor Willow's request, he needed to ask at least one more question.
Hesitantly, he asked "Um, Will, would you be so kind as to point me in the right direction?"
Sighing, but never averting her gaze from the spot she had focused on somewhere on the wall in front of her, she pointed just over Giles shoulder. "It's right behind you."
Not yet turning, Giles mumbled to himself. "Of course. How cliché."
With a deep breath, he turned, a firm grip on the hilt of the sword in his right hand, ready and willing to defend himself if needed.
He was met with the gaze of a creature standing a foot taller than him, its face a smooth, featureless mask with grey, cold eyes. The head was round, its skin an eerie blue that held no sign of any distinctive marks whatsoever. It looked Giles up and down a moment, seeming to take notice of his sword with little care or dread, then turned and levitated slowly to the center of the foyer.
"He said you wont need the sword." Willow's voice held a hint of humor. "Called you a typical American." She giggled.
Giles sighed a little. "Indeed. Let's just get to it, shall we. And why didn't I hear him say...never mind." He shook his head, again mumbling to himself. "Besides, if I were American, I'd be carrying a gun instead of this bloody sword."
Giles stepped towards the center of the cavernous room, which seemed even more aglow with those strange tear-shaped crystals. Brushing by one of the walls, he almost reached out to touch them, convinced they'd be wet to the touch. But Willow had already warned him that this was a sacred place for the Demon, and any attempt to disturb its surroundings would cause them to fail in their quest.
Quelling his curiosity, while also questioning yet again why he had allowed Willow to convince him this was a good idea, he moved towards where the demon now stood motionless. Peering over a small rocky outcropping, Giles noticed for the first time that there was a large pool of standing water at the center. Dark as night and only visible by the slight ripple here and there, it resembled a giant pit in the center of the room.
"How appropriate. So, would you mind asking the faceless mime here what I'm to do with this, or should I just lean over and stick my face under water and hope I get what I need that way?"
Willow smirked, her frown drawn inwards with a sort of Don't hate me look, before she again turned her gaze to the wall.
"Oh for heavens sake." He sighed heavily, looked at the still motionless demon who said nothing, and then back at Willow. Who obviously was to be no help at all.
Kneeling, he resigned himself to trust in Willow. Her abilities with the mystical arts now were far beyond what he himself had ever dabbled in. And she had been absolutely sure that this would be the only way they could recover the memories he needed, in order to close the book once and for all on the ways of the old, now deceased Watchers Council.
It wasn't sentimentality; Giles simply abhorred a vacuum of history. If they were to start with a clean slate, the truth of how the council had operated needed to be documented. And since their records had mostly been obliterated by the First, more unconventional means had become necessary.
He stared into the liquid abyss, and let out a long breath. Placing his glasses on the edge of the pool, he sighed, "Fine, but if I drown, I'm coming back to haunt the bloody lot of you."
With a few quick breaths, and one final large one, Rupert Giles lowered his head into the murky depths, sure that hed see only darkness.
And never aware of how right he'd be.
June, 1963
Chicago, Illinois
Snapping awake from the nightmare she had been having, Saylee Aymara screamed aloud, shocked to find herself in a crowded street, surrounded my staring faces. And in the arms of a strange, handsomely rugged young man with piercing brown eyes.
"What? Take your hands off me!" She pushed away, stumbling slightly, almost falling into the crowd of faces. Faces not of concern, she suddenly realized. No, these people were angry. And suddenly, it hit her.
"Damn." By instinct, she glanced around, searching for a small space she could slide her small, five-foot-one frame through. Her head was killing her, her arms aching, and she was just a little more than queasy. Spotting daylight between two large, older men, she took a step to leap out of harm's way.
Only to collapse a few inches from where she had been standing, back into the arms of the man who had been holding her. Leaning close to her face, he whispered, "Be still, child. I mean you no harm. I'm here only to help you. Now be good just a moment and play along, won't you?"
Raising his voice, he bellowed above the now audibly angry crowd of bystanders. "It's alright. I'm a police officer. I will deal with this. Please, stand back and give me room."
A voice came from the crowd. "She stole my wallet!"
"She's nothing more than a thief and a beggar," another chimed in. "Get her off the street. Kids don't belong here, wandering the alleys."
"She's the one that's been stealing from my stockrooms every night. I know it. Let us teach her a lesson, mister."
But the man holding her upright only held up his free arm, palm outstretched. "There will be none of that. Now, please, step out of the way, and if you have anything you wish to say, you can add it to my report. Down at the station." With those words, the crowd began to break apart, some throwing their hands into the air, continuing their protest even as they walked away.
He looked down at her, winked, and whispered again. "Lets go, then, shall we?"
She couldn't say a word; only drag herself along with him, half supported by his solid frame, as she brushed by faces she didn't recognize. Doesn't matter, she thought. They know what I am. And they hate me. Hell, I hate me.
She felt a small tear trail down her cheek before her eyes became heavy, and the world went silent.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Slowly, the world began to return, a hazy grey, and she was aware of the soft, down pillow below her head. The smell of clean sheets filled her nostrils, and her body was warm for the first time in....well, it had been a really long time. So long, she had forgotten what a real bed was made of.
Sleeping in a car since she had been six, Saylee had long given up on the idea that she'd ever feel soft sheets on a firm bed below her, or have a warm blanket to sleep under.Those were luxuries only good little girls with Mommies who cared about them could have. And since hers had always been a drug addict and eventually disappeared altogether, Saylee's dreams were full of street sounds, cold winds blowing in from the river, and the always strange nightmares.
The thought made her sit up with a sudden realization that this couldn't be real. To her right, she saw the glow of the city through the long white curtains blowing lazy in the breeze. To her left she could feel the warmth of a fireplace, and the smell of burning wood. It was distinctively different than the burning papers she often warmed her hands on.
She shook her head to clear the fog of sleep, and felt no pain where she'd been struck. Reaching back with her left hand, she felt the back of her head for the spot the rock had hit (she was sure it had been a rock), but sifting through her short, brown hair, she felt only a slight bump. But that couldn't be right, could it?
Okay, Saylee, it's time to wakey from the nice little dreamland and start figuring out where the hell you are. She stood, surprised to still be wearing the same dark brown suede jeans and light blue t-shirt she had been wearing now for a few weeks. Looking down, she could see the same old, worn out tennis shoes still on her feet. Well, at least some things never change, she thought and chuckled half-heartedly.
"I thought it best to leave those things for last." The voice startled her; deep and quiet, a man standing no more than a few feet taller than her stepped from around the corner. "I find it can be quite..." He paused, as if searching for the right word, while also studying her frame. "Presumptuous for a Watcher to choose what to buy his Slayer to wear. Granted, I am new to these things." He walked over to where she stood, not more than a few inches from the bed, and handed her a cup and saucer. "You want to be careful, that is rather hot tea. Would you care for..."
She tossed the saucer and cup clear across the room, flinching slightly at the crashing noise as it shattered against the stone frame of the fireplace. "What I want is to know why you've kidnapped a sixteen-year-old girl and brought her to your...your...wherever the hell is this." Her temper was beginning to flare, as it did anytime she became scared; only a few things unnerved her these days, and strange men and strange places were at the top of the list.
"I would expect a girl such as you to be more aware of her surroundings. We are in my hotel suite in the center of the city. If you wish to know more, I'll need something from you," he replied.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa." She backed up a few steps to the window, watching hesitantly the strange man with a slightly weird accent, before brushing the curtains aside and peering over the windows ledge. Sure enough, the city lay far beneath her, the sounds barely audible to her, but still strangely assuring to her senses. Brushing back the wisp of dark, brown hair that had fallen over her face, she narrowed her gaze, resolved to find a quick way out of this.
She turned back to him. "What do you mean a girl such as me? You don't know a thing about me and by the way, don't think I missed that little thing about being a watcher. I know it's the sixties and I'm not completely out of touch with the times, man, but I'm not that kinda chick. You hear me? So if this is about some sort of sex thing..."
"Hush!" His words were sharp and felt like a slap to her face. "What you are suggesting is ludicrous and insulting. And you're not listening. Typical of you American girls."
"Yeah, well, typical of you...you...whatever you are, to be all full of accents and tea. You still haven't told me why I'm here, and who you are." She felt strong for a minute, and grabbed hold of the feeling. Her legs felt solid, her breathing rhythmic in her chest.
Her captor chuckled slightly, a sound she found herself not entirely disliking. "You are most certainly a Slayer. I feel we've gotten off on the wrong foot. Perhaps we could go downstairs, have a nice cup of tea in the restaurant in the lobby, and I will explain everything. You will have plenty of questions, and I will try and answer them."
She interrupted him. "A Slayer?" This time the word didn't escape her attention, and the nightmare she'd been having just before she awoke, on the street, in this man's arms, came rushing back clear as day. Her mind wandered and she looked to the floor, her heart suddenly feeling like a hammer trying to beat its way from her chest. "I know that! I mean, I've had dreams..."
"Yes, I'm sure you have. And I'll show you why. But one thing you must know, Saylee."
She looked up at him, doubt and fear and questions reflected in her deep, blue eyes.
"You are the Chosen One now, and he will come for you. Your nightmares were, unfortunately, very real. And if we are to survive, child, we must start preparing. Now."
Her mouth opened as if to ask a question, but the words hung in her throat. Sighing, she resolved herself to go with him, and find out how it was he knew all these things about her. What was the worst that could happen? She was a thief and a pretty damn good one, most days. If all else failed, she could make a run for it a lot easier downstairs, surrounded by people and maybe swipe some cash on her way out.
Just as she reached the door, he held out his hand gently, holding it there as if they had never been introduced. Which, of course they hadn't really.
Placing her tiny hand in his, she looked him in the eyes, noticing once again how they seemed to peer into her as if she were a window. The feeling should have unnerved her.
He smiled and said, "My name is Quentin, by the way. Quentin Travers. I am your Watcher."
~~~~~~~~~
Saylee rolled out of the way, her shoulder catching a glancing blow from her right. She winced a bit; not from pain, but more from shock. Her assailant never paused; instead, she shot an annoyed glance over her shoulder at the Slayer, before spinning defiantly back around, her elegant blond hair flowing behind her. The whole scene was surreal, and as hard as she tried, she just couldn't grasp the entirety of what she found herself in.
Amidst the noisy crowd, she managed to locate Quentin, walking just in front of her, confidently as usual. Slowly, tentatively, she reached for him, snagging his coat sleeve, causing him to turn.
"Yes?" His smile was cocky, and didn't help ease her nerves.
"No way. No way. No! Way!" She planted her feet, and small as she was, attempted to seem immoveable.
But Quentin simply adjusted his tie a bit, looked around, and returned that cocky smile. "Come now, child. If we want to maintain the miniscule level of normalcy, you must appear to actually be normal."
She looked around nervously again, biting her lower lip. "Yeah, but can't I be normal, like, somewhere else? High school just ain't me, alright? I've tried to explain..."
"You've explained yourself perfectly clear, Ms. Aymara. But try as we might, the things we fear have a way of becoming unavoidable. I simply don't have the resources to tutor you proper, and besides, suspicions would only grow if we did not enroll you. There's only so many hotels in the city; eventually, someone's going to call the authorities on suspicions that we..."
She held up her hand, and made a sickly face. "Let's not finish that sentence, kay. And why cant we just go somewhere and keep training? I mean, you say this Nefarianthing is looking for me, right?"
He nodded, glancing around nervously, searching for someone who might have heard her. But American High Schools were chaos in motion; no one seemed the least bit interested in the two of them.
Saylee continued, unabated. "So, what's the deal with sticking me here? I mean, won't that just put innocents in harm's way, and all that?"
Quentin edged closer to her, his face holding no sign of amusement. "Nefarian does not work that way. He will not attack you in the middle of the day, or in a crowd. You are safer here. Besides, I will be just down the hall at all times, posing as a substitute teacher of this school's science lab."
She shook her head, annoyed. "Fine. Who am I to argue with the almighty Watcher guy?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Quentin only turned and began walking down the hallway again. "But you can drop the whole child thing. You're only a little older than I am. And I am not a child."
He stopped, turned back to her, his eyes ever vigilant and burrowing. For a moment, she thought she saw a bit of sadness in his young face, but he quickly recovered before saying, "No, you are a warrior. That's why this should be a piece of cake."
Following him, she adjusted her backpack and kept her eyes to the floor. A piece of cake, he says. Passing a classroom, she glanced in curiously, and made eye contact with a cute, brown-haired boy who smiled back. She stopped for a moment, just long enough to watch him write something down on a piece of paper. He waited until the teacher in front of him had turned, then held up the paper to his friends, before turning it toward her so she could read it.
Squinting, Saylee struggled to make out what it said. Her reading skills were mediocre at best, having taught herself from age seven and up with newspapers and street signs. But she didn't need to really know what it said; the boys laughing told her all she needed.
She grinned sardonically, extended her middle finger, and then walked quickly to catch up to her Watcher, liking it already.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The ground is wet, she thought as her head struck the cold, hard ground. For a second, her world went red, but she regained her composure, realizing that it was only anger, and smiled. Anger was something shed learned to control, channel, in these last few months of her training.
Placing her hands palms-down into the dew covered grass, Saylee pushed upwards, hard, knocking back her attacker. This vamp hadn't been like the rest; those she had surprised as they rose from their graves. Nope, this one had been out hunting for a mid-evening snack, and thought he had stumbled onto a one girl buffet.
She let a smile form across her lips, before looking the not-so-small vampire in the eyes. "Nice cheap shot. I'll give you that."
"Yeah. If you liked that, you'll love what else I've got for ya, sweet cheeks. How's about we have a go at it, you and me?" He smiled at the curious look in her face as she asked herself the obvious question. "Oh, that's right; I know you're a Slayer. Uh-oh. What's a girl to do?" He let his tone drip with sarcasm, cracking his thick knuckles one-by-one, before rolling his broad shoulders. Baring his teeth, he rumbled at her full force, attempting to use the element of shock to his advantage.
Only he didn't see the stake she produced suddenly in her right hand; nor did he expect her to be so swift in falling completely to the ground, flat on her back, slipping underneath his large frame, only to jump to her feet a second later, plunging the stake into his back and through to the heart with a smooth backhanded motion. Looking down, he saw the tip of it poking through his chest, just as he turned to dust.
"Well, that's for starters." Tossing the stake in the air, she swung one hip forward and caught it snugly inside the pouch attached to her belt. Popping a stick of gum onto her mouth, she started out towards the entrance of the graveyard, only to catch sight of her Watcher standing at the gate, looking on.
"So unbecoming of a young lady." He held a paper cup of coffee, the collar of his coat pulled upwards to no doubt protect him from the strong, cold wind blowing off the river just a few miles away.
"What's that? Chewing gum? Can't help it. Dustin' vamps always leaves a..." She grinned, "Dusty taste in my mouth. Besides, did you forget who you're talkin to here? I'm about as unbecoming as they come."
He handed her one of the steaming cups, taking notice of her not so appropriate attire. Her legs were covered in a dark black pair of tight hugging pants, which made sense for someone who stalked their prey at night. But her low cut, loose hanging t-shirt was not only green and red, but also lacked sleeves. She strode confidently now, comfortable in her own skin and sexuality. It made him restless but he masked those feelings well. His duties were clear.
"You really should stop doing that." He noticed her questioning look as she took a sip of the warm liquid. "Putting yourself down, I mean. You've made remarkable progress in such a short time. You are no longer the tiny street thief I found that day."
He tried not to notice the smile that creeped on her face as she looked away. Clearing his throat, he continued. "Besides, I meant the gloating, actually. And since when is it necessary to draw attention to yourself with those types of outfits?"
She smiled a second, then turned on the innocent look. "What ? I just like feeling unrestricted, is all. You try slaying vamps in a thick winter coat and mittens. Not only does it look silly..."
But Quentin had already turned and began walking up the street towards home. Or, today's home anyways. Saylee never knew where they might be tomorrow. Something about keeping their enemy off guard.
She caught up to him, and he briefly gave her a grin, before he returned to his self-important gaze he always kept when they were on a hunt. He said it was his way of staying vigilant; but she had an inkling it had something to do with the way they'd seemed to grow closer over the past few weeks. There was an attraction there, she knew it. And felt it, the same as she hoped he did. But neither knew a way to broach the subject, so they went on and on with the same daily routine; training, eating, studying, school, more training, eating, a quick nap, and then the hunt late at night.
Today had been a little different though.
"So," she said in a barely audible tone, "tell me again why we had to do that thing. Today. I mean, you kind of went over it a little fast, and I'm not saying I don't trust you. I mean you're my watcher. If I can't trust you, then, well hey, I'm pretty much just back to pickin' pockets and eating garbage." She stopped when he didn't turn around. "Right?"
Quentin slowed, and then turned. "You know the answer to that. I've taught you better. All we did today was to make it legal. I am now officially your guardian, just as it should be. I explained that to you earlier." He turned back quickly, averting her sheepish gaze. The girl had a way of making him uncomfortable, and he was almost ashamed to admit to himself that he did not entirely dislike it.
"Yeah, I guess so. But what was that part with the living will? What, you think this Nefarian's just gonna run into Chicago and bowl me over? Like I can't stop him?" Her voice was shaky, fear not easily hidden in her tone. "Just because he killed those other slayers, the ones before me, doesn't mean he can't be beat. I've got some tricks up my sleeve, just you wait."
Quentin turned around, his eyes finding hers. He hated the tears he saw forming there, as much as he hated this task that had been set in front of him almost a year ago today. Even studying her as a Potential he had known she was a delicate one; even the power of the Slayer couldn't erase all the time she'd spent fending for herself, alone and cold and despised, for no other reason than a bad lot in her young life.
"Is that what you think? Well, is it?" She shook her head, but he could tell she was unsure. He stepped closer, and against his better judgment and all of the training he'd had as a young Watcher, took her face in his hands, turning her now tear-streaked face upwards.
"You are a star in the night sky, just as every warrior and Slayer before you. The fire that burns within you is unique, even if you are part of something much, much larger. I say this not just as a watcher," he wiped a tear from her cheek, smiling warmly. "but as a man. I not only believe you can beat this demon, I know you will."
For a moment their eyes remained locked, and both held their breath, afraid of what might come next. Her heart beat so hard against her chest that she was positive he could hear it, and the tears drying on her face seemed frozen in place. Without thinking, she leaned forward, drawing her lips close to his, knowing she shouldn't; that he most assuredly wouldn't.
He simply watched her, his heart frozen, his mind a blank slate. And as her eyes closed, and her mouth came just a breath away from his own, he cursed his heritage and his duties, resolved to cast aside everything he had been told and taught from age eight.
But their lips never met; a slight tug from behind snapped Quentin from his trance, and as he looked down, he could see the tip of a very large arrow protruding from his left shoulder. Then, another tug, as he was dragged backwards, onto the ground, and away from his Slayer.
"No!!!!" Saylee screamed, as she watched him dragged from her grasp. The arrow had struck him so fast, she hadn't had time to react, and now watched helpless as the strong, black cable attached to it pulled him further from her reach. She quickly gathered herself, and looked up towards the high rising buildings surrounding them. But the street lights were blinding, and Saylee couldn't make out her assailant.
A few feet away, Quentin had stopped, his body still, the sound of groaning pain the only way she knew he was alive. Without looking at him, she yelled for him to stay still.
"No...aahh, no. Run Saylee. You must... run. It's him...it's Nefar..."
Slamming to the earth as if dropped from a plane, the demon Nefarian landed between Saylee and her Watcher, his imposing frame blocking her line of sight to him as well. When he spoke, his voice sent a chill up her spine, like nails on a chalk board, his voice bellowing over the wind as if he owned the night itself.
"No, don't run, child. This will only take a second, and I'd hate for you to miss your own brutal death."
~~~~~~~~~~
Standing much taller than she imagined, Nefarian was just as terrifying to look at in real life as he was to dream about. For one thing, she thought, why hadn't anyone told me about the wings?
In his right hand he held a crossbow, which seemed a toy in his large, talon-tipped hands. His stance bristled with strength, his skin a brightly colored red, his face a perfect imitation of every raw nightmare she'd ever had; resembling the pictures of the devil himself, he was only lacking in the horns. But to make up for it, the bridge of his nose was pierced with bones, leading to a mouth jagged with razor sharp teeth.
At least they looked that way to her. It was hard to tell from where she was standing, the lights from the surrounding street lights still blinding her a bit. She should be running right now, just as Mr. Travers had told her. But she couldn't make her feet move, and beyond staring, seemed incapable of doing little else; besides the obvious breathing hard in utter terror.
"You and I have a date, little one. I've been searching for you a long time. Longer than I had to search for your predecessors even. And you know what that's made me?" He tossed the crossbow to his feet, which were actually hooves.
She struggled to form words, but instead found herself almost giggling.
Nefarian noticed the smirk. "You find this funny?"
She suddenly couldn't help herself. "Nope. No, don't worry about it. You don't want to hear what I was going to say." She held up a hand, shaking it from side-to-side. Another giggle sneaked out from her lips.
His face suddenly changed from confidence and rage, to that of curiosity.
She looked up at him, regained her composure and said, "Uglier?" before breaking into a fit of giggles.
Nefarian only scoffed, confused at the Slayer's response. Apparently, he hadn't made his intentions clear. Enraged, he let out a high pitched roar, shattering the street lights around them, plunging the street into darkness.
And then Saylee made her move. Without a moment's hesitation, she dove back towards the cemetery's entrance and rolled end-over-end into a crouch. Her mind racing as she tried to remember everything her and Mr. Travers had gone over in their premade plans. Darting her eyes towards the back of the graveyard, she spotted a clear path to the large crypt that was her destination. Listening, she could sense her attacker nearby, his hooves not making subtle sounds on the ground below.
He had been thrown off guard for a moment, but was now searching for her.
"That wasn't even a clever one-liner, little one. But I guess it got you what you wanted. But why delay the inevitable?"
She crawled slowly along the wet ground, hugging close to the shadows of the tombstones, listening to the bellowing voice that seemed to come from everywhere all at once.
"Do you even understand your place in all this? Has your Watcher even told you? You're not destined to be some great warrior. Hell, you'll be lucky if anyone remembers you tomorrow."
The ground rumbled beneath her and Saylee knew he was getting close. In the darkness, her eyes finally adjusted, and she saw her target clearly. Just a few more yards...slowly, crawling, inching....patience, just as he'd trained her.
This was their trap, their plan all along. Visit and revisit the same cemeteries each night, until Nefarian could wait no longer. Then, it was the battleground of their choosing, and in a few seconds, the weapon of their choosing as well. Closer, closer, her heart beat fell in rhythm with her breathing, her out stretched hands so close to it.
From above, Nefarian swooped upon her in an instant, landing with a thump on the ground just in front of her. "Uh oh, denied again, Slayer. Did you think me that much a fool?"
She had had enough. With a speed surprising even her, she spun on her back and kicked hard at his left knee. Bounding forward, and onto her feet, she delivered a haymaker with every ounce of strength she had, followed by an uppercut, determined to knock him down to her level.
But he only stood still, as if she had never touched him at all. He slammed a fist into her face, knocking her backwards, shattering a grave stone with the force of her momentum.
Again he slammed downwards, his fist connecting with her abdomen this time, knocking the wind out of her. He raised his arm again, but hesitated; her small frame looked broken after only a few hits. He dared not spoil the kill so early.
Grabbing her by her neck, he lifted her off the ground, holding her close to his face, inspecting her petite features, watching as her head lulled from side-to-side in the fog of pain.
"You know, the Slayers before you, they didn't even last this long. You should consider yourself triumphant. Sort of. I am no vampire and yet you held your own."
She managed a groan, spitting blood from her mouth and drawing in a breath. "Why...tell me...that much...what is it?"
He bared his teeth again in a smile meant to stop her heart cold. "You'd think it was the infamous Slayer strength, right? That's what your Watcher thinks. That's what they always think, when a demon comes hunting their precious chosen ones."
He leaned in closer, his breath a mix of sewage and death. "Let me tell you a secret I tell them all, just before I suck the life out of them," he whispered. "It's not the strength of the Slayer; it's the innocence of the girl. Nothing tastes sweeter than the pure innocence of a human."
He leaned back, turned her so that the back of her head was facing him, and continued, aloud now, so she could hear this last part. "And Slayers are the sweetest treats by far."
He squeezed and Saylee felt the air forced from her lungs. Her ribs cracked and popped, and she knew he was killing her. In a second, he'd bite into her spine, and she'd go numb.
She had only one chance left and with every ounce of anger, willpower and stubborn rebellion she had left, Saylee threw her head backwards, smashing her skull into the demon's broad nose.
Shocked, Nefarian let loose his grip just enough, and Saylee slipped from his grasp. Falling to the ground, she quickly rolled, and grabbed hold of the weapon hidden underneath an arrangement of flowers. She turned, took aim with her sling-shot and paused just long enough to savor the amused look on her targets face.
"That? That is your secret weapon against me?" He laughed out loud, vibrating the air around them both. "You expect me to fear this...this master plan you and your Watcher hatched?"
Saylee smiled through the searing pain, then let loose, sending the gem she had loaded in the sling-shot's pouch rifling through the air, and into the forehead of the demon standing so tall in front of her.
"Nope, asshole," she replied. "We just expect you to die this time."
Though stunned, he seemed unfazed by her attack. Reaching up, he felt the gem protruding from his face, then turned towards her again, enraged that she had the nerve to continue to fight.
"I will make you suffer for this, Slayer. You don't know pain..."
"Exardesco!" Quentin yelled from behind her.
And Nefarian's head exploded in a blazing fireball; a quick flash of sputtering sparks and ash, and then his lumbering body fell to the ground, finally and forever lifeless.
Quentin Travers dropped to his knees, his left arm limp at his side. With gritted teeth, he struggled to hold Saylee's head above the ground. Her breathing was ragged, and she was losing blood internally, he could tell.
"Took you long enough," she managed to croak out. A weak grin splayed across her lips.
"Had this thing I had to do. Somebody let us get ambushed." He tried to return her smile, but his heart was sinking, and he knew there was little time to get her to a hospital. "Come on, Saylee. I need you to stand."
She grabbed hold of his jacket again and he stopped trying to stand. Her face was pale, and she looked up at him with her blue eyes, the spark he had become so fond of fading before his own eyes. "Can't this time. Stop telling me what to do."
"Saylee. I don't know what to say. I never wanted this...any of it but somehow, you..." He blinked back the tears and for a moment, forgot he was a Watcher. "I love you."
But Saylee Aymara didn't respond. Her head fell limp into his lap and her eyes lay open in a stare that told him she was gone. A lone tear streaked down her face and Quentin felt his heart fall into his stomach. Burying his face into her chest, he sobbed silently for what seemed like an eternity.
~~~~~~~~~~
"What's important here is that you did the job we sent you to do, Quentin."
The voice of his fellow Watcher, Andrew Saxton, interrupted his stoic stare. He watched slowly as Saylee's body, now covered with a white sheet, was loaded into the back of a black, windowless van.
Soon it would be loaded aboard a plane, taken to the Council's headquarters, where they would bury it in a nameless grave. It was the last time he'd ever see her; the elders were the only ones who knew where and how she'd be buried, and he was a long way off from being an elder.
"This mess can be easily cleaned up," Andrew continued. "It was clever of you to keep the battle contained. Certainly could have gotten much worse, in a city this big." He placed a hand on Quentin's shoulder, but though he could feel it resting there, he refused to acknowledge its existence.
Suddenly, a soldier dressed in black fatigues appeared, jogging to where the two of them stood. Handing Saxton a manila folder, he gave a British salute, and stood at attention. At Saxton's nod, he gave his report.
"Sir, we recovered everything of value from the subject's living quarters. Mr. Traver's files and papers were exactly where he said they were and all other evidence of the Slayer's life and existence has been disposed of. Those are the papers you asked for directly."
"Thank you, soldier. Splenid work. Feel free to lend a hand with this clean up and control, now would you?" After another salute, the soldier bounded off, yelling orders to a group of men a few yards in front of them, leaving the two of them alone, silently watching.
Until Saxton broke the silence again. "All Watchers must come to grip with the harsh reality that they will more than likely outlive their Slayer. It's a point of fact, my friend."
He held the folder in front of him triumphantly, and his tone changed from melancholy to joy. "But this...this girl, her heritage, her father that she never knew. Getting her to sign off her inheritance to you was bloody brilliant. This money will help run the Council's efforts for a good long time. The fact that she was able to defeat Nefarian...well, that's just a bonus that's going to earn you a sure promotion. You should be proud, boyo."
Quentin tore his gaze from the van, now occupied with the body of the only girl he had ever had feelings for and the disgust was evident on his face, even in the shadowy corner where they stood. "Proud, old man? And what of the Slayers before her? Those we left Watcher-less, for the sake of saving the Council. How do we live?" He stifled the choking feeling in his throat, determined no to allow anyone to ever see the grief he felt inside. "How do we do what we do, when it means the death of so many innocent girls?"
Saxton's weathered face was a mask of concentration, and he again placed a hand on Quentin's shoulder as a sign of understanding, his brow furrowed. "You will come to see, Quentin Travers, that the world we operate in has its own set of rules. Rules we cannot betray; rules that are most certainly cold, especially to those who understand nothing of what we do."
He took a deep breath, and urged Quentin alongside of him as they walked to his car. Just as they reached the door, Saxton stopped and turned back to him. "Always remember this, son. Evil plays by no set of rules and the Slayer is our only weapon. Without us, without the ability to continue what we do, they are like stars in the night sky, each one burning bright but aimlessly wandering in space. We are the direction, the guidance, for their burning light."
He climbed into the back seat, but continued, his voice flat and emotionless. "And every time one falls, there will be another to take her place. But we remain the same. That is how it's done, and how it must always remain."
Quentin shut the door closed, taking one final look towards the black van now speeding off in front of them. Saxton, noticing this, sighed and motioned for the driver to go. "You are one of us now, Quentin. Consider this your final lesson."
As they sped off, along with every soldier and cleaning crew member in tow, Quentin stood alone in the quiet of the cemetery with Andrew Saxton's words ringing in his ears. And though he wanted to, he didn't look up. As far as he was concerned, he never wanted to see the stars again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Present
Giles gasped for breath, withdrawing his face from the black pool. For a moment, he panicked as he regained his bearings. He had not been prepared for the vividness of the memories he was exposed to, nor the way in which they had played out like scenes in a movie; as if he had been inside their heads, feeling, seeing, hearing.
Willow's voice finally jolted him from his trance. "Giles Giles, can you hear me?" She had a hand on his shoulder, shaking him firmly.
He placed a gentle hand on hers, letting her know he was aware. Feeling below for where he had left his glasses, he grabbed hold of them and stood. Staring at the lenses, he shook free the water, and then wiped his face with his free hand.
Holding the glasses out in front of him, he never allowed his gaze to wander to the demon's face as he spoke. "So that's what you do here, down in the dark? These crystals. They not only resemble tears, they are tears, of a sort, aren't they?"
Deciding that he didn't really need his glasses anyways, Giles resolved to place them in his shirt pocket before turning to Willow, whose face was a mask of concern and sympathy. She had heard the sadness in his voice and knew that whatever it was her old friend had seen had been enough to bring out the Ripper in him.
"I have what I need, Willow. You can do what needs to be done."
She touched his shoulder as he turned away. "Giles, what is it?"
He turned back to face her, aware of the shame he felt for acts he never committed himself, but nevertheless, still felt an accomplice to. "We won't be needing anymore of the Council's resources. We're going to start fresh and rewrite the way things are done. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm feeling a bit out of sorts. I'd like very much to leave this place and be done with the whole ordeal."
Willow watched as he grabbed hold of the magical torch that he had used to guide himself in, and exited through the tunnel that had led them deep into the earth. Her face a solemn mask of understanding, she gave it a few moments of contemplation, before she set her gaze upon the demon still standing at the center of the large cavern. Its head was tilted sideways in a sort of questioning look, and Willow felt it try to reach out and touch her mind again, to communicate its question aloud in her head.
But she blocked its access and spoke softly aloud. "You gather pain, feed from it. These crystals are your tears of joy, the records of all those acrid memories you've reached out and stolen over a millennium. And how many of those," she stepped closer to where it stood, her eyes forming into black pools of their own. "were that of innocent, young girls? How many were the broken hearts of lovers?" She spat the words out in anger, relishing in the release of concentrated magic and the pureness of her anger.
The demon in front of her began to cower at the sound of her voice, its eyes no longer emotionless; it retreated, searching for an escape.
But too late. Willow, with the sound of one word and the wave of her hand, cascaded the cavernous hall of pain and misery with blue-white flame; and in an instant, she could feel the release of pent up agony, as spirits were finally allowed to find peace.
And above the ground, Giles heard a distant scream inside his head, but only tuned it out. He knew Willow would be beside him in a few moments, so he relished in the coolness of the forest breeze. Breathing deeply, he opened his eyes to the splendor of the sky above, littered with the light of a million stars.
And felt the grief well up inside him. In defiance of all he had once been taught to believe, he allowed himself to cry, alone there in the wilderness, as the forest lay quiet, accepting his penance.
*