Author: Aeneas
Rating: PG-13 (So far, just language)
Summary: It's all about Spike.
Disclaimer: In some other Universe, maybe the one with all the
shrimp, I'm brilliant enough to have created the Buffyverse on my own.
Unfortunately this isn't that Universe and I am but a lowly follower.
All things belong to Joss and ME.
Part Two: Finding Reason
Familiar Faces
The mail included more newspaper clippings. A piece from a small town in Ohio intrigued Iverson the most. Escaped hospital patient. A young woman who was believed to have saved a family from the brutal killers rampaging through the eastern United States. With a bullet wound in one shoulder, she had crashed through a window to get out of the hospital before disappearing. She was described as polite and reserved. A quiet girl. He knew. It had to be Cara. The killings had stopped for almost a week before resuming in the south.
With a tired sigh, Iverson poured himself a cup of coffee. God-awful stuff. Along with the clippings, Roberts had sent a laptop containing all of the genealogical data they had managed to dig up. They had lost so much to the First when his agent had destroyed the Headquarters. So much knowledge.
Packing the laptop carefully in his satchel, he left the small motel room. Working with the Slayer had proven to be quite fascinating. Difficult to follow at times. He had been completely flabbergasted when they told him of Spike's soul but it made an odd sort of sense. Reviving Faith, choosing not to kill Cara. It was all part of the unraveling world around them. The vampire was doing more damage with a soul than he had done without one. The Summers house seemed innocent on the outside. Normal. When he knocked, the door swung open and the familiar face of the redheaded witch smiled at him.
"Back for more?"
"I wouldn't miss it for the world. Much more fun than stuffy old Watchers."
"We'll make a real boy out of you yet." Willow headed back to the living room.
"I have another piece of the puzzle. It hasn't made any sense before." Iverson removed the laptop from his bag and placed it next to the woman's. "And it still doesn't make any sense, actually. But I believe you should be made aware of it."
"How considerate of you." Giles didn't bother looking up from his book. The Englishman was still smarting from Buffy's refusal to kill Spike.
"It's rather a variation on the same old tune. A little more disturbing this time." Iverson booted up the computer and found the right files. "The former Council had an extensive database of Slayer lines. We lost most of it and have had to piece together bits from historical records and what was salvaged from the wreckage of the old headquarters."
"Slayer lines?" Willow frowned at the screen.
"Slayers having children used to be much more common. Women married at fourteen and fifteen not two hundred years ago. They often had two or three years before they were called." Iverson pulled out the folder of newspaper clippings. "It's how we locate potential Slayers."
"I thought it was a mystical thing. All mojo and being Chosen."
"It's both magic and science. All Slayers come from one of the Slayer lines, which could all be traced back to the first Slayer if we had the records." He spread the clippings over the table carefully. "The first Slayer was infused with the essence of a demon. To give her power. That is what Rupery has told the Council."
"Buffy saw it." Willow confirmed. "When we were fighting the First. She saw how the Shamans made the first Slayer."
"As far as we can tell, the Slayer traits are passed down. Simple genetics actually. Until she is called, the Slayer genes remain dormant. How they are activated we don't know. That's the mystical aspect. And we can't predict which one of the potentials will be called." He had finally caught Giles' attention. "By following the bloodlines, we can also track potentials."
"What if the Slayer has a boy? Remember Principle Wood. Nikki's son." Willow moved away from the laptop, craning her neck to read the newspaper clippings.
"Males are carriers. They pass on the genes to their offspring."
"What is this?" Willow was horrified as she read through the headlines.
"What you see are the potential potentials. These families all carried the Slayer genes. They're being systematically hunted down. We don't know by who." Iverson shook his head sadly and tapped the last article. "This family was saved. I believe that Cara must have found them."
"Why wipe out Slayers? Again?" Giles frowned, leaving his book to inspect the newspaper articles.
"We don't know. The First's attack would have left us without an active Slayer for a few years, until another child grew old enough to be called. We would have recovered eventually. But this? This is wiping out every hint and trace of the Slayers."
"Is there anything we can do?"
"The Council is searching for other families. Warning those we can." He returned to his laptop. "Roberts sent an updated database with all the lines we've been able to find thus far. I would like to check into the California lineages while I'm here."
"How many lines are there?"
"At times there have been hundreds of them. It fluctuates. Occasionally, entire lines are wiped out or wither away. Dwindling down to one, no children are produced, that sort of thing. It happens."
"So one of Buffy's parents came from a Slayer line?"
"Her mother. A very old line."
"Figures." Willow smiled and sat back down.
"Hey guys. Find anything?" Buffy asked cheerfully as she came out of the kitchen.
"More bad news."
"It can get worse than the whole world is going to fall in on itself?"
"Just a tad. No more Slayers."
"Déjà vu much."
"This time, they're serious. Whoever they are." Willow pointed to the newspaper clippings. "Apparently being a Slayer is hereditary. These families are possible candidates for future Slayers. Or they were before the whole being murdered part."
"And the dimensional bleeding has increased." Iverson looked up from his screen. "More metrological anomalies. Demons behaving uncharacteristically. New demons. Species that haven't been seen for hundreds of years. People spontaneously combusting."
"Typical day on the Hellmouth." Buffy sighed.
"Yes, but these are happening all over the globe rather than just in Sunnydale or the other hotspots, as you call them." Iverson watched her for a moment. "It's only a matter of time."
"There has to be another way." The Slayer didn't look at him. "Besides. I don't know where Spike is anyway. And he has a week's head start on us. We may never find him." She didn't sound at all bothered by the thought.
"And if there isn't another way?" Giles asked harshly.
"We've had this conversation Giles."
"I can't believe that you're willing to sacrifice us all for a vampire."
"Why?" She smiled sweetly. "You know me. I have this weakness for souled vampires. I tend to fall in love with them. Always ends badly but I never learn."
"You needn't be so flippant."
"I'm not flipping anything. Except homemade hamburger goodness. Anyone want hamburgers? Or are we in the mood for veggie today?"
"Buffy."
"I'll ask Dawn. Maybe she wants a hamburger." Buffy headed up the stairs.
"She's lost her mind." Giles shook his head and turned to Iverson. "Is there any way you can find Spike?"
"We've instructed all contacts to keep an eye out for the vampire. That's all we can do. He's very elusive."
"You found him in New Orleans."
"I believe it was sheer luck on Elliot's part." Iverson glanced at Willow. "Perhaps you could do a spell, Miss Rosenberg?"
"Yes, of course." Giles sounded relieved. "Willow. Please. You have to know this is for the best."
"Whoa!" Willow stood up, shaking her head vehemently. "You're putting me in the middle of something and I don't think I like the middle. Not at all. The middle is where you get squished and smashed and people step on you. No way."
"Willow. Buffy can't make these decisions. She's not thinking rationally." Giles sat down beside her. "I know that Spike has a soul now and I understand that he won it back of his own free will, as mind-boggling as that is. But that's beside the point. If his death can stop this world from continuing to degrade then someone has to do it."
"But what if there is another way? What if we can stop it somehow? Without the dusting of Spike."
"And what if we can't?"
"Don't ask me to do this Giles."
"Are you really willing to die for him? He'll probably be killed along with the rest of us when this dimension collapses around our ears. Is it really worth it?"
Willow's bottom lip trembled. She stared at the Watchers fearfully. She crumbled. "Only as a last resort. You have to promise me that there will be no book unread, no stone unturned. Only if there's nothing else. And I'm talking end of the line, do not pass go or collect two hundred dollars, demon Mayor ascension kind of no more options."
"That's all I ask." Giles went back to his book.
"Fore!" The thwack of the golf club against the tiny white ball echoed through the crisp morning air. Nothing like an early tee time to get the inspiration flowing and the joy of life bubbling through the veins.
"There's no one there." Alatheia had never understood golf. Hitting a tiny white pebble over oddly mowed lawn with a long, malformed stick wasn't exactly her idea of a lovely pastime.
"It's the thought that counts." The Incarnation of Good whistled cheerfully as he picked up his bag and started over the course, taking deep breaths and relishing the view. "Wonderful course. My favorite." Situated along the Ring of Kerry in Ireland, it was just challenging enough without being impossible. And green. So much green. So much life. A light breeze caressing his face, the kiss of the sun, rare for this time of year in the Green Isle. The mood was slightly marred by the water demons in the lakes. They scared away the tourists.
His two companions managed to keep up with him, toting their own sets of clubs and looking rather annoyed. He chuckled. At least they weren't bantering around endless titles that sounded quite assuming and frivolous. To his friends, he wasn't He Who Was The Source of Light and Life or any other such nonsense. He was just an all around nice guy and he preferred to be called Joe.
"Which one of these damn things am I supposed to use?" Holding up two or three of the clubs, Alatheia glared at him.
Unperturbed, he selected one of the irons and smiled brightly. "Try this one." He knew better than to coach her on her grip or form. She tended to hit too hard, as though she was taking out all her frustration with the club. Yes, golf would be very therapeutic for the Incarnation of Truth if she would relax. Chronos, on the other hand, carefully and thoughtfully lined up all his shots before taking a swing. If he wasn't so concerned about spilling his drink, Time would have made a consummate golfer.
"Very good, dear. Keep your elbow in." Chronos smiled as Alatheia nearly pulverized the golf ball, tossing a chunk of earth several feet.
"Remember to replace your divets." Joe looked through his own clubs, wondering what would be the best in this situation.
"I'm going to be wrapping this graphite and titanium toothpick around your ears in a minute." She waved the club threateningly as she stamped the dislocated piece of earth back into place. "I can't believe I let you drag me out here."
"It's good for you to get out that hut every once and awhile." Chronos sipped his drink.
"Sod off."
"Now, now. This is supposed to be relaxing." Joe squinted into the sun for a moment, winding up. Thwack! A bouncing dot landed on the green. "I might come in under par after all."
"You always do." Alatheia muttered.
"What did you want to discuss?" He leaned on his club for a second. "That can't wait until the next summit meeting."
"Chronos doesn't like the bargain."
"I feel it defeats the purpose." Chronos gave her a dark look. "I believe that removing the Slayers from the world will result in an unchecked demon population and eventually the end of the world."
"The world will fall apart regardless." Alatheia added sourly, stomping after her ball.
"But how can this be the way? You know as well as I do that Caine is wiping out the Slayer lines. Was that in the bargain as well?"
"Why would he be doing that? No more Slayers will be activated regardless. As per the agreement." Joe frowned thoughtfully as he cleaned off his putter.
"Maybe because he's Evil? Just a thought."
"No need to be snippy Alatheia." Joe sighed. "I understand your concern, Chronos. But you have to realize that there are other factors. If one vampire can learn to feel love and remorse, then what's to say all of them aren't capable of it? Can we honestly send Slayers after them? Knowing that some of them are capable of good."
"A little rose colored. Spike is a rare case."
"True. But you can't deny that there might have been others had they not been slain immediately."
"What about demons other than vampires? Who will stop them?"
"Do they need to be stopped?" The ball whooshed across the lawn and sunk into the hole. "The Fates examined the threads and determined that the exchange was fair. I'm inclined to believe them."
"He's formed an attachment to the vampire." Alatheia scowled as her ball skirted the hole and swung past it. "I think all those olives have gone to his brain. Either that or the vodka."
"And the fumes from that hideous glue that you've been inhaling for millennia has done wonders for yours?"
"Let's not fight." Joe raised a hand. "It's unseemly for us to bicker like children." He turned his calm gaze to Chronos. "What about this vampire leads you to feel so strongly about the issue?"
"There has never been a vampire like him. There will never be another vampire like him." Chronos plucked his ball out of the cup and started for the next hole. "You can't assume that all demons are capable of his kind of evolution."
"But what if they are? We'll never find out if we blindly go about killing them."
"And the innocent people who will die while we test that theory? What about them?"
"People manage to get by just fine." Joe patted his shoulder. "They're tougher than they look and most of them have survived this long without too much of a problem."
"Because of the Slayer. She has saved the entire world several times. Without her, it may very well be destroyed."
"Fore!" A golf ball sailed past their heads. Alatheia was grinning as she joined them.
"That was dangerous, my dear."
"That was fun." She retorted.
"I was just explaining that the world will undoubtedly be destroyed without a guardian." Chronos sighed irritably.
"Another one bites the dust."
"Must you be so glib?"
"I'm sure there are other dimension with martinis."
"I've looked." Chronos turned away and began setting up his shot. "But that's not the point. The point is that we're wrong. We've made a mistake and Caine is capitalizing on that. He'll turn that world into a living Hell and we'll be responsible."
"Is he always this pessimistic?" Joe asked Alatheia.
It wasn't much to look at. An older office building left vacant by sky-high rent and the degradation of the surrounding neighborhood. Property values fell and the profitable businesses chose newer venues. But there was a central block of rooms without windows, dark and safe for those who happened to be flammable. Faith decided it was probably considered posh for someone who had spent years sleeping in crypts. She knew that he missed his loft in New Orleans but he hadn't said anything. Just asked her if she was all right. That was Spike.
She watched him sleep for a few minutes. He looked dead, not breathing, not moving. Pale. Technically he was dead. Demon animated corpse. That went a little far into necrophilia territory when she thought about it. He was an enigma to Faith. The night before, she had seen him rip and tear his way through a gang of vampires who had tried to jump them in one of the alleys. Game face and yellow eyes fierce in the night, growling dangerously as he fought. No. He didn't fight. He danced. Buffy had been right about that. He danced. Part of her wanted to be at the other end of that dance, to test the inhuman reflexes and strength she knew he had. Fighting him was bound to be exhilarating and primal. Sensual.
Fighting side by side was better. He loved it. The fight, the kill. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. It was amazing to be with someone who thrilled to the violence the way she did, who accepted the rush and the charge of adrenaline from a good tumble. No great mission to rid the world of evil, no worry about right or wrong. Just the dance. It was obvious why Buffy had been drawn to him. More obvious why she had never understood him.
Then he would change in an instant. Turn from a predator to a lover in the blink of an eye. Fists opened, caressing her with a tenderness that never ceased to amaze her. Vicious to gentle, harsh to tender. She had lain awake, feeling his fingertips trace the scars on her back, light as a feather. It was a strange feeling to wake up next to a man. Even more bizarre to go to bed with the same man again the next night. Get some, get gone. She'd believed it, lived it. It was all she knew. Men were disposable, replaceable, expendable. More than one night risked emotional attachment and she hadn't wanted any of them following her around like lost puppies. They'd just get their hearts broken. The truth was that she wasn't willing to risk her own heart. Always too afraid that she would be the one who would break.
Part of her was waiting for it. To be broken. It was too good to be true. Having someone who held her, cherished her, kept her safe. He would never love her. Could never love her. Buffy had seen to that. Faith wondered if he even realized the damage Buffy had done. Did he hear the pain and the bitterness in his voice when he talked about Buffy? He spoke of Dru fondly, as though remembering an old friend. There was another woman, Cecily, who he mentioned casually, without any real emotion. Whoever she was, it was just a footnote in his mind. Buffy had destroyed him. He said he didn't love the blond anymore but he was far from letting go what they had been years ago.
Whatever Faith had with him, whatever was between them, it wasn't love. It would never be love. Maybe they were both too damaged to ever love anyone. She left him lying still as death, wrapped in the blankets they had found, and made her way to one of the outside offices. The night had always been her element even before she had been called. Now she needed to feel the sun on her face.
It was midday and Seattle was teaming with life outside the quiet building. She watched the cars for a while, thinking about trying not to think. Was he separate? Like Angel. Was there a Spike and a William? Where was the line? He seemed to vacillate between the two personalities, while simultaneously being neither of them. A whole different personality who wasn't William or Spike. That gave her a headache. Thinking had never been her strong suit. Hard habit to break, considering there wasn't much else to do in prison.
Hesitating for a brief instant, she moved away from the window and returned to the quiet darkness of the center office. Taking care to be quiet, she returned to their makeshift bed and laid down next to him. If he had been human, she would have watched him breathe. Instead, she studied his face leisurely. Long dark lashes, sculpted cheekbones. Every bit of him had been fashioned from pale marble. In sleep, he looked younger and almost innocent. Moving closer, she curled against his side. Instinctively, he turned toward her and wrapped his arms around her protectively.
Closing her eyes against his chest, she hoped that the gang had found another way to stop what was happening. She and Spike had been in Seattle for nearly a week. Every night had been one fight after another, vampires and demons coming out the woodwork. Newspaper headlines screamed about gang violence and random killings. Someone was murdering whole families in the Midwest. It was sickening.
Spike tried to hide his concern from her. They had run into some demons Faith had never seen. He said they shouldn't be here. Shouldn't even exist. And he had barely spoken to her the rest of the night. He was worried. She was beginning to feel the first pangs of dread. If there wasn't another way. If killing Spike was the only answer. Squeezing her eyes tightly, she tightened her hold on him. Even asleep, he responded instantly by curling around her, trying to comfort her.
He would do it. If there was no other way. Faith knew that he would choose the world over his own life. He would choose Dawn's life over his. With Spike, what was personal was what mattered. Despite his self-professed cowardice, she knew that he would do it if she refused. Could she refuse? Could she say yes? It felt like a stake through her own heart. There had to be another way. She would never find another man like him. Would never find a man who could see past the network of scars on her face, who would trail kisses along the pale pink lines and whisper that she was more beautiful because of them. She couldn't lose him.
It was purely selfish. She didn't care. He was all she had.
Dawn was grateful when the last group of teenagers left the lobby, taking the laughter and shouting that was giving her a migraine with them. Her fingers trembled slightly as she helped close up the concession stand and pick up the trash left behind by the more inconsiderate patrons. Finally escaping the stale air conditioning of the movie theater, she hurried out into the night. The cell phone waited patiently in her pocket. It wasn't safe to walk around Sunnydale at night. She was supposed to call Buffy for a ride. If the Slayer wasn't back from patrol, Willow was next on the speed dial.
Scratching her shoulder nervously, she wished the tickling sensation would go away. Several patches were raw and tender from her fingernails but she couldn't stop herself from trying to itch the feeling away. It had spread down her back and through her shoulders, like insects crawling just beneath the skin. Ewww. Bad mental image. She shivered and started down the sidewalk. It was a nice night. She could walk. Her feet drug listlessly despite the anxiety keeping her nerves on edge. She felt as though she was being pulling in a hundred different directions. And the whispers were constant now. Chanting wordless rhythms in her ears.
Fred had poked and prodded. Taken blood and skin samples. She had Dawn listen to sound after sound, trying to find an equivalent. They'd wandered all over town with bizarre equipment that beeped and flashed. Test after test until Dawn began to wonder if this was what Spike had hated about the Initiative. The feeling of being a lab rat.
They hadn't found anything more about the Key, although they really hadn't scratched the surface of the books and papers the Council had sent. The new Head Watcher was nice enough and Dawn noticed that he treated her like a human being even if she wasn't. She was a living energy matrix trapped inside a girl's body. What the hell was a matrix? She could probably ask Fred. But she didn't think she'd understand the answer either. As it was, she only managed to grasp about half of what came out of Fred's mouth. No one had said anything but she could see it in their faces. The world was collapsing around them. Dimensional walls or whatever Fred called them were caving in. And they would take Dawn with them.
She wondered if it would hurt. Would she fly apart or fall to pieces? Maybe she would just transform back into the green glowy ball and disappear into nothing. She didn't believe them when they said it was Spike's fault. It's not like he was the first vampire with a soul. Iverson said it had something to do with winning it back instead of being cursed. Going against demon nature. She didn't care. Spike was safely somewhere other than Sunnydale and Buffy seemed happier than she had been in years.
That was another item on the list of Hellmouth weirdness and the most definite sign of apocalypse. Buffy didn't seem to care that the world was ending. She wanted to go shopping and watch chick flicks. Or make cookies together. She'd even gone on a double date with Xander and Jane. Giles thought she'd had a nervous breakdown. Willow was ecstatic. Dawn figured it was a pod person. It looked like Buffy, sounded like Buffy, but it couldn't be Buffy. It had to be a pod person.
Sighing, she cut across the memorial park they had put in where the old high school had been. Complete with a duck pond stocked with an orange traffic-cone fish motif. It was peaceful at night. Would have been better if her head wasn't pounding. And spinning. Someone had picked up the world and shaken it like one of those snow globes. She stopped, breathing hard and grabbing hold of a park bench for support. This was how she'd always imagined it felt to be drunk. Without the giggling and actually feeling good part. At least that's how she assumed it felt. Buffy never let her drink.
This was...this was weird, she decided. All groggy and sticky feeling. Like swimming in molasses. Or one of those Jurassic Park insects getting trapped and then petrified so their DNA could be captured hundreds of years later. Would they find her and say Look, the Key! Or would they just think she was just another girl stupid enough to be walking around Sunnydale at night without the Slayer. Would she even petrify the right way or would the Key part of her screw that up too? Something warm was trickling over her lips.
Blood. Her nose was bleeding. She stared at her fingertips, still surprised that she bled red instead of green. If the Key was in her blood, shouldn't it be different? Is this blood? Summers blood. Now she was woozy. And shaking. Or vibrating. It felt more like vibrating. She had to get to her cell phone.
Each inch seemed to take forever, her eyes going in and out of focus as she reached slowly into her jacket pocket. Fingers closed around the hard plastic. It was a lead weight in her hand. She was shaking badly enough that it took her three tries to hit the right sequence of buttons. Please be home. Please be home.
"Hello?"
"Bu-ff-ff-y." Her teeth chattered uncontrollably. Was she having a seizure?
"Dawn? Are you all right? Where are you?"
"P-p-p-ark-k-k. S-s-sch-o-o-l-l-l."
"Memorial park? I'll be right there. Don't move." The phone clicked and Dawn fumbled with the off button.
Needed to sit down. Shadows blurred and shifted around her when she tried to find the bench again. It had been right there. All she could see were shapes and colors. Everything smeared together, a watercolor painting left out in the rain. The world was washing away around her. Was this what dying felt like? Sinewy threads spread out around her in every direction. Perfectly symmetrical. Like a snowflake. Pale green.
So that's what a matrix is, she thought before she was sucked into darkness.
There were two kind of people in the world. The ones who deserved to be saved and the ones who didn't. Those who hid and those who fought. Endless days blurred into never ending nights and Cara stopped counting hours. She kept time by the number of kills she had. The bullets she fired and the piles of dust and blood she left behind. Days didn't matter. Just the death that came with the blade of her sword and the end of her stake.
A Xander Harris Special. She kept it, never letting it out of her hand when she fought. A vampire had broken her arm because she refused to let go of it. It had caught in the grating of a drainage pipe in the wasteland of Detroit's toxic past. Precious seconds were lost as she twisted it loose, giving the demon time to bring a steel bar down on her right arm, breaking bone with a sickening crack. But she didn't let go. She never let go. And the last thing the vampire saw was the rage in her eyes as she threw him against a broken packing crate.
People knew about vampires. In the neighborhoods where they had grown up in the shadow and terror of night. The places that didn't show up on the Council's radar because they were just holes in the ground where the homeless disappeared and even the law refused to show its face. Dark, dirty, reeking of desperation. She found women trying to save their children, kids on their own, and men hiding fear behind battle scars and booze. And deep in the pits of humanity where there was no light and no hope, she found the allies she needed. Knowledge long forgotten. Veterans of war, factory workers who knew how to mold and shape a bullet. How to fashion bits of metal to kill the unkillable. It wasn't hi-tech. It wasn't pretty. But it got the job done. In return, Cara killed the monsters who destroyed their families and turned friends into enemies. She taught the hopeless how to hide and how to fight back.
Her hair grew. She trimmed it with a knife and no mirror, not caring how she looked. It didn't matter. Her weapons were clean, sharpened, polished, protected. They mattered. The holes in her knapsack were carefully patched and sewn while rips in her stained pants were covered with duct tape. She learned from the boys in the streets, picking up the art of brass knuckles and fighting dirty. It wasn't about balance or technique. It was about survival and animal instinct.
She never stayed in one place long. Returning to familiar faces to pick up more ammunition or take out a nest of vampires delusional enough to move into the neighborhoods where she had found acceptance. She was doing her job. She was doing her duty. Training at the Slayer Academy had been tough. Real life was brutal. She hadn't been ready for it when she had left England. She was ready now.
"Evenin' suga. What you doin' back in these parts?" Avery was a tall, heavy set man with eyes black as night and a soft Alabama voice. Veins popped up along his arms, hinting at the strength he was known for.
"Just the usual." Cara dumped a canvas sack onto the ground of the old factory.
"Do ya hafta bring 'em back?" Avery pulled a face at the dark blood soaking through the fabric.
"Trophy wall." She was referring to the grotesque exhibit she had created along the perimeter of the factory. Demon heads. Most had been rendered to decaying skulls, bone bleaching in the harsh light of day. It kept the less ambitious from investigating the factory.
"Sharper tips on these babies." He handed her a stack of boxes. Fifty bullets each. "Wooden hearts clear through."
"Thanks." She ran her fingers over the bullets, listening to the music as the casings rattled against each other before tucking the boxes into her knapsack. "Should hold me until I can come back." She'd sent a runner the week before and knew that he must have worked into the night to get her this many.
"There be more waitin' like a bride on her weddin' night. Where ya headin'?"
"South." She opened the sack and pulled out the bloody head by one of its horns. "A team moving west through Tennessee. Two days ahead of me."
"Families?" Avery was the only one who knew of the vampire pack she had hunted across three states. Before she had come to Detroit. Before she had become the face she didn't even see in the mirror any longer.
"Yeah." Blood dripped from the severed neck, trailing behind her as she headed back out into the daylight to drive the skull down onto one of the metal pikes for all the underworld to see and know that she had claimed this place. Would protect it with blood and death. She knew Avery was watching from the doorway as she headed south down the street. He liked to talk. She liked to listen to his voice, sing song with words she often didn't know and breaking into rhythmic music whenever the mood struck him. But she never stayed. Staying meant putting his life in danger, from demons, from the Slayers waiting to be called in England. Girls who didn't understand that innocence was innocence and their duty was to protect the innocent. Even if some of them didn't deserve it.
She snuck onto a train headed out, listening to the rattle and hum that had grown so familiar. How long had it been since she had left Sunnydale? It felt as though a lifetime had passed. Ninety-four vampires. Twenty-two demons. One hundred and seven bullets. How many nights? She didn't know. She didn't care. All that mattered was protecting the innocent.
It wasn't black and white. She knew that now. A Slayer walked a line of gray, the line between day and night, between human and demon. She saw the world through the eyes of someone who would never belong, never understand, never walk among the rest of mankind. That didn't matter either. She had hoped that slaying the vampire pack would end the slaughter of families. It hadn't. When the first newspaper headline had caught her eye, she had known it was starting all over again. They left no clues in Defiance. Perhaps she had killed them before they had time to find a sewer to crawl into.
She switched trains in Indianapolis, heading west to Arkansas.
If the monsters kept their current course, she could intercept them as
they crossed the Land of Opportunity and headed into Oklahoma. Assuming
they were headed west. If not, she could change tracks and follow.
New places. New faces. New demons to kill. That was all
that mattered. The hunt, the kill. And the stake in her jacket
pocket.