Buffy and the Vampire Slayers

Episode One: Getting There

"Let me tell you a story." Her voice was smooth and even, but carried the weight of her status. She had a point to make.

"Once upon a time, the Old Ones ruled the Earth. Then they were hunted down, one at a time. First by the Powers That Be, and then, by their mortal champions. Then, finally, twelve hundred years ago, a human priestess tracked down the last surviving pure-blooded demon and cut him down with a glittering red scythe."

Bella looked over at him and he felt his shoulders tense. The flaring gold of her eyes contrasting the pale blue of her skin, the rotating black gear-pauldrons of her armor casting shadows across her lovely face. There was rage and haughtiness in her gaze, and he loved her all the more for it.

"Yes, Lady Bella. So I've read in the chronicles." His words seemed an inadequate response, but he hated to make the Lady suspect he wasn't listening.

"Of course humans found ways to muck up the world on their own," she said. "But that's a story for another time. The point that must be addressed now, on the eve of this campaign, is: why?"

"Why the Old Ones lost the Earth?" He thought a moment. "Because the humans had help from the Powers that Be?"

The Lady grimaced. Clearly the answer did not please her.

"That's how the humans opposed them," she said. "Not why they couldn't hold."

He blinked, not comprehending the difference.

"It's simple really. Why did the Old Ones—who ruled the Earth from the days before it cooled—lose it to an upstart band of intelligent monkeys that had barely learned to talk? This is not a trick question. Why would the Old Ones choose defeat over victory?"

He paused, searching inward, thinking as hard as he could think, though he had little insight, he was afraid. Lady Bella's words were never chosen without care, so why did she insinuate that the Old Ones had chosen defeat? They hadn't chosen it, they had simply been out fought. Their stratagems failed where those of the humans succeeded.

"Does anyone choose defeat, my Lady?"

"All the time, Scipio," said Lady Bella. "Oh, perhaps not consciously. But there's something you need to see here: pay attention. There were two choices the Old Ones had. Victory or defeat. They could have chosen victory, but it would have required a compromise, a compromise they refused to make."

The Lady placed a hand on his shoulder and stood on the tips of her boots, looking him in the eye. Scipio almost felt as though her intelligence was sparking into him, making his feeble mortal synapses fire faster.

"They would not work together," he said. "They fought amongst themselves as much as they did their common enemy."

"Precisely." The Lady licked her lips as she pulled away from him. "They would not put aside their rivalries and cooperate. That is the price of narcissism. Do not let that lesson slip through your grasp, General."

"You seem particularly eager for this fight, my Lady." Scipio studied his goddess. The gears and cogs of her armor seemed to be rotating faster than usual, the spider-leg black appendages that protruded from her back clutching like a hand around a stress ball.

"I have crushed planet after planet in the eons since I was last in this part of the universe. The wizards and monks of a dozen worlds have fallen to pieces before me. Yet this world—this world that was conquered by demons rescued itself. That fascinates me. I only heard about the fall of Earth a few decades ago, long after it happened. You were just a child then. Your father was still my right hand."

Bella looked out the window of her voidship, distant stars blasting by as the thrusters moved them ever closer to a tiny planet that orbited an unassuming star called Sol. Earth had been a world of browns and grays when Bella had last seen it. Now, she had heard, it was blue.

Wolfram and Hart promised a lot, but as long as you held up your side of the bargain, they delivered. Lilah Morgan was, of course, dead, but her office in New York was mighty damn impressive for a dead woman. A corner square with ergonomic everything, and best of all, the necro-temper filters on her windows only allowed vampires to step a few feet into the room.

Yeah. Ergonomic everything, an internet connection to multiple dimension. And donuts in a self-replenishing box. Lilah wondered if she could still get fat while undead.

Mostly, she was glad to be out of Hell. It may seem like an obvious thing to say considering it was… you know, HELL, but she hated it there. Being surrounded by constant demonic evil—on a level that made most of the Wolfram and Hart clientele look like a nun's cloister—had a way of reminding a human how human she was.

She tugged at the scarf around her neck. Sometimes the scar tissue where that poncy ex-Watcher had cut off her head still itched. Wesley, dammit. Even after he'd cut of her head with an ax he still had tried to free her from her Wolfram and Hart contract, after all she'd done and attempted to do. He cared about her.

Dammit.

Selfless bastard.

There was a crackle and a distortion of space and time. Lilah looked up from her keyboard and the blank legal form she had zoned out while trying to complete. The distortion before her coalesced into the form of a man: her new boss.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Donavon?"

Randall Donavon was a tall, gaunt man who had mastered the art of semi-corporeal astral projection and used it throughout his long career to ruthlessly intimidate his opponents in the legal system to silence. Although he appeared, in this projection, to be no older than his mid-thirties, with sandy blonde hair, Lilah knew he'd been on the New York scene a very long time, and that his projections changed with his mood. Nobody on staff, as far as she could gather, had seen Donavon in the flesh; nobody knew what he really looked like on the material plane.

"This visit is actually about what I can do for you," Donavon said, his tone surprisingly cordial. "I have wonderful news."

"By which I suppose you mean news of some horrible tragedy," Lilah said.

"Oh not at all. No, my dear. I think a promotion is in order. Angel, the vampire you contended with in Los Angeles, has joined the Circle of the Black Thorn. He's one of us now."

Donavon's smile beamed with pride.

The tingle of a too-good-to-be-true thrill ran through Lilah Morgan, right up her spine. But by the time it got to her brain-stem, the alarms in her mind were already going off. No. Angel was not on their side. They'd made a mistake. It had been less than a year since Angel had taken control. Nine months was not enough time to corrupt someone like Angel. This was a trick. His soul had been taken—or worse, Angel had deceived the Senior Partners somehow.

"This is wrong," Lilah blurted, slamming a fist against her desk. "This was a long game, there's no way it's over this soon. Angel's faking it."

Donavon looked shocked. "Not possible. He let an Old One be reborn by consuming the soul of his head scientist, he negotiated a contract with the Fell Brethren. He even murdered Drogyn the Battlebrand in front of the Circle."

"I don't believe it," Lilah said. "The Circle is being reckless. I know Angel. I've been trying to bring him into the fold for five years, Mr. Donavon. Warn them. Warn them this is a set-up."

Donavon's cordial tone vanished. "Lilah, you're out of line."

"I'm right," she said. "Tell them Randall. Get them on the phone now."

"One more outburst out of you and you'll be back in Hell before you can blink," he said.

Something was deeply unnatural about his body language: it was stiff and almost performative, like an actor forgetting the stage direction until halfway through the line—a side effect of the astral projection, perhaps.

"I'm sorry, sir," Lilah said, biting her tongue. "But I know Angel better than anyone in this firm."

Donavon stiffly folded his arms, his demeanor changing again to what could charitably described as paternalistic.

"Lilah. If you have something that needs to be relayed to the Circle, then you will relay it through the proper channels."

Lilah swore inwardly, but kept her mouth shut. Her after-life was more precious to her than her pride. But she could already see a disaster looming. And she figured by the time her 'concern' got through the proper channels, it would be too late: her weird astral-projection boss was not likely to be expedient about it, and the Senior Partners were inundated with so many emails that even they couldn't read them all.

As much as she hated it, Lilah needed to make a phone call to her replacement.

Kennedy paced back and forth on a makeshift stage, placing her hands behind her back in imitation of the strict teachers at her Catholic high school. She made sure her footsteps were heavy. Part of her had to admit she was loving the power trip—even though the throngs below her had, whether they knew it or not, the power to rip her to shreds. No, they weren't vampires: just three dozen teenage girls.

Three dozen Slayers.

Even though it was her uncle's estate (or was it a cousin? Kennedy could never remember) that housed this burgeoning Slayer academy, she didn't expect she'd be addressing the students too often. There were other Slayers, like Vi, and a scant few surviving Watchers like Giles who were better suited to teaching kids than a twenty-year old spoiled, wealthy superhero who'd dropped out of college to go save the world. Hell, she'd tried teaching before, back then. It ended with a lifeless body of a teenage girl hanging from a bedsheet. In as much as she knew it was The First's torment above all that had driven Chloe to kill herself, Kennedy still felt responsible on some level. If she had been a bit nicer, read the signs a bit better...

And of course there was Willow. Kennedy had to look out for her favorite witch, and Willow was never one to stay out of the action for long. Barely more than a year had passed since Willow had cast that spell that made Kennedy a Slayer and changed the world around them. Hundreds, maybe thousands of girls around the world awakened to a new power—and the calling that comes with it. But to Kennedy it seemed a lot longer than that. So much longer.

A cough from one of the new Slayers snapped her back into the present. The students stood in a grassy yard nested in the hills. Willow and Giles had warded it from scrying and magical attacks, and the girls were positioned in the sun to make sure no vampires were infiltrating the school. So far, none of them were smoking… except one fidgety teen in the back; but that was just from a cigarette.

"Let me tell you a story," Kennedy said at last. "A story about why you're all here.

"It was ordained thousands of years ago that one girl in all the world would be imbued with the power of the Slayer. She alone would have the power to fight demons, vampires, and all the other Big Bad monsters with names that sound like Klingon profanity."

The comment drew a giggle from some of the girls.

"That tradition continued through the ages until one day about seven years ago. A Slayer who bucked the trends was called. Chosen. Her name is Buffy, and she died. But then, something happened that had never happened before. See, this Slayer was not like others. To her, the mission was the main thing, but it wasn't the only thing. She had friends. Loved ones. She had a sister, who pulled her of the filthy puddle she'd drowned in. And she had a friend. He used CPR and brought her back. But the fact remained: for a few minutes, Buffy the Vampire Slayer was dead. Another Slayer was called, but Buffy didn't shuffle of the mortal coil."

Kennedy's eyes flickered over to Willow, who stood at the side of the yard, leaning against the prefabricated walls that Xander had helped them install. Her smile beamed warmth up at Kennedy, but Kennedy was afraid that if she smiled back she'd start blushing and lose all her cred with the young Slayers.

"That Slayer, Kendra Young, also died. She didn't get to come back. But it turned out she was, in the eyes of the magic that governed this shit, the rightful Slayer. So another one was called. And if she had died, there'd have been another. And another. The Chosen One. And this is the part where you come in."

Kennedy dropped the authority figure act, and jumped down off the stage, landing her butt on the stage, legs dangling off. She leaned in and looked some of the girls in the eyes.

"Buffy realized this whole thing was bullshit. One girl in all the world? No. Screw that noise. That was a rule made up by three guys who died around the same time the wheel was invented. A rule already broken by a teenage boy with some mouth-to-mouth. Those ancient men feared giving that power to a man—to an equal—so they gave it to a girl, a girl they thought was helpless, weak. And they did it against her will. They forced it on her. She alone will stand, the old saying went."

"Not any more." Kennedy smiled. A year ago, my girlfriend—" she pointed to Willow, who waved awkwardly at the Slayer-kids. "—performed a spell that awoke the power in each of us. I was there, with her when she did it, but the rest of you, you felt it. You knew when it happened. You changed the same way I did. This power you have is not something to fear. But that doesn't mean there's nothing to be afraid of."

Kennedy shifted back, drawing her legs onto the platform. Her voice was starting to get raspy and she needed a drink. Time to bring this to the point.

"There are monsters out there who won't hesitate to kill you. If that scares you, then remember they were there before you had this power—and the power means now you can do something about it. But we're not going to force a destiny on anyone: we're done with Chosen Ones. Now we choose for ourselves. And you'll get to make the choice if and when you want to join the fight."

Kennedy folded her hands together and rested her chin on them.

"But until then, you have to learn how to wield this power, how to control it, and—when necessary—how to conceal it from people who'd want to use it for themselves. This used to be done one-on-one. One Slayer and her Watcher, privately. That's not possible anymore. That's why you've all been invited here. The last remaining Watchers and the newly awakened Slayers. I'm not much of a teacher and I'm already hoarse from this speech, so I'll end it here."

Kennedy stood up and motioned to Buffy's mentor, the bespectacled British man who seemed endlessly flustered to the point Kennedy suspected he hadn't gotten laid recently. "Giles, the stage is yours."

Kennedy figured she didn't need to hear Giles speak, so she tuned his voice out and darted off the stage over to Willow's waiting embrace.

"How'd I do?" she said.

"Wonderful," said Willow. "It was very inspiring. I'm inspired."

"You're just saying that because it's me, aren't you?" Kennedy smiled. "C'mon, be honest."

"I am. Inspired, not just saying that." Willow leaned in and kissed Kennedy lips, the witch's lips warm and tasting of strawberry. "You got the message across. You talked to the girls like equals."

"As opposed to like a drill sergeant." Kennedy collapsed into a sitting position against the wall and grabbed the water bottle Willow held, tipping it to her to make sure it was okay. "At least I managed not to call them maggots."

"Don't say that, Ken." Willow looked at the lot of mini-Slayers, then at Giles, on the platform. "I meant that you made them feel more comfortable. Most of these girls never had Watchers. They weren't identified as Potentials before the First's attack, so this is all new and scary to them. Giles is great and all but if you haven't noticed he has a bit of trouble relating to our generation."

Kennedy took a long drink and handed the bottle back to Willow.

"I guess," she said.

"And, Ken, be real here: you helped me confront my guilt over moving on after Tara died," said Willow. "So let me help you get through yours. I know teaching is a sore spot for you after what happened with Chloe, but—"

"No buts," said Kennedy. She bit her lip. "That's a sore that won't heal even with my Slayer regeneration powers. And it shouldn't. If it heals, I'll probably just make the same mistake again."

Lilah's phone call did not go as planned

"Hello. Wolfram & Hart, this is Hamilton." A male voice said on the other end of the line, rather disinterested.

"Hamilton?" Lilah said. "I was trying to reach Eve, liaison to the Senior Partners. Is she available?"

"I'm afraid not," the man said, though in a voice that reeked of smugness. "Eventide Trist is no longer an employee of Wolfram and Hart. I'm the new liaison. May I ask who's speaking?"

Wait. That was her name? God, how awful. No wonder she only ever went by Eve.

"In that case, Mr. Hamilton, this is Lilah Morgan." She exhaled curtly into the phone. "I'm concerned. I was told that Angel had joined the Circle of the Black Thorn. This must be some kind of mistake."

"No mistake," said Hamilton. "I'm going to ignore your inability to go through the proper channels and hang up the—"

"Screw the proper channels," Lilah said before Hamilton could cut her off. "I'm warning you, this is not what it looks like. If Angel knows about the Circle then he's going to attack it. I know him better than any of you and you're putting the Senior Partner's plans in extreme danger if you think you've corrupted Angel after just nine months. I was at him for four years, dammit."

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment.

"At least explain to me why everyone seems so cavalier about a possible security risk," she said, as evenly as possible.

Another moment of silence. Finally, Hamilton spoke.

"Have you looked at the news, Lilah? The balance of power in this world has been shaken. Slayers everywhere, Slayers who don't know a god damn thing about the Senior Partners. Who don't fear them. We need to make them afraid." Hamilton made a noise expressing his disgust. "Now Angel has shown sign after sign that he is ready for the next level. If you think he's managed to deceive the Partners themselves, in addition to the Circle, then go ahead down this dangerous road and continue to question them. But until They say otherwise, Angel belongs to us."

"You're saying the firm is banking on Angel because of his connection to the Slayer?" Lilah couldn't believe this. Maybe Fred and Gunn and Wesley had been right all along. Maybe evil was stupid. "Are the Senior Partners really that afraid of a super-powered cheerleader and an army of teenage girls? So afraid that they'll paint targets on the backs of their prime enforcers just to maybe have something to use against her?"

Hamilton laughed. "No, Lilah, they're not. You have no idea what it is the Senior Partners fear."

"And you do," said Lilah. "By all means, elucidate me."

There was a choking sound, and when Hamilton spoke again, the voice was not his own. Distorted, deeper, and full of power, as if the very syllables it spoke could peel the flesh off her bones.

"Hello, Lilah Morgan," it said. "You may think of me as Mr. Hart."

Oh. Shit.

Lilah tried to move, try to hang up the phone, but felt herself unable to move, unable to even blink.

"I can't maintain this connection long without killing Marcus, so you may not talk or ask questions."

Lilah never thought she'd be having a direct phone conversation with one of the Senior Partners. Then again conversation was a poor choice of words; pants-pissing lecture would be better.

"Let me tell you a story, Lilah. Once upon a time, there was a Slayer, who died because she did not want to be the Chosen One. Her friend brought her back to life, and she fought on a few more years. And then she died again, by her own will, and was happy. But again, a friend brought her back to life, against her will. Ripping her out of her warrior's sleep. And though at first she understandably resented them, gradually, through the pleasure toxins that your species releases during sex and pain, the Slayer convinced herself that she didn't want to die again, for a time.

"Yet as it does, the world became too hard for her again. Her friends rejected her, her only comfort was in the arms of the vampire who tried to rape her, and she wallowed in her own self-pity. Then, one day, a spirit wearing the face of a man she had killed gave her an idea. She did not have to bear the burden of being a Slayer alone: she could share that with thousands of other children, and then maybe it might not hurt quite as bad.

"You see, Lilah Morgan, Buffy Summers is not a hero. She's a coward, hiding behind a wall of infants, leading them from the rear of the phalanx. She thinks, delusionally, that she's now invincible, and that hubris will get her killed. So no, I do not fear her. What I cannot abide is the reckless, graceless manner with which she has attempted to alter the balance of power in this world. We have worked far too long and too hard to see our world destabilized by an arrogant child. Angel has signed away his chance at reward. He has committed atrocities in Our name, made horrific choices of which we are quite proud. And when his transformation is complete, he will be our weapon against the Slayer. He will cut off the head so that the snake withers and dies. Is this clear?"

Lilah convulsed as the paralysis was released.

"Crystal," she rasped into the phone receiver.

"Then bury your insubordination, or find yourself buried alive in the grave you purchased for your mother."

There was a click on the other end of the line; Mr. Hart had hung up.

Buffy breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the lights of the estate. Kennedy's uncle or cousin or whatever sure knew how to pick a house. Or build it, maybe that's what he did. Either way, she was glad to be inches from the end-zone after twenty-two straight hours of travel; she needed a nice long bath as hot as she could stand it and a nap at least as long as her flight across the Atlantic.

Traveling all over Europe, setting up cells of Slayers in Scotland, France, Italy, Portugal—it was amazing beyond words to be out of California, to see the world beyond the proverbial four walls of the Golden State—but it had also been exhausting work. Especially dealing with the Immortal. You'd think a six-hundred year old man would be a bit more mature, but with him it was just one innuendo after another.

On the bright side, she had already graduated, died (twice), and been to Europe, so all she had left on her bucket list was to marry Christian Slater. Somehow, that one seemed less likely by the day… though maybe if he was into the superhero thing…

In the car with her, Dawn snored in the back seat, her head resting on Xander's shoulder. Buffy couldn't tell if Xander was asleep or just staring intently out the window. Andrew was hunched over a Gameboy, headphones securely fastened. It was peaceful—which was the opposite of the feeling she got when she looked at the driver, his hands white with starlight, clutching the steering wheel with an atypical level of nervousness, at least for him: mild unease.

"You sure you're good, Oz?" Buffy said. "To see Willow again, I mean."

"I'll never be good to see Willow after what happened with Tara," Oz said evenly. "Okay. I can be okay. Besides, it's a new moon tonight. We're on the opposite side of the calendar for me to be wolfy."

Buffy nodded. The clock on the rental car read 9 PM. Was it really that early? It felt so much later.

"It's dusk in Los Angeles. I bet Angel's just now waking up," Buffy said. "Andrew told me he actually showed up in Rome looking for me when I was with the Immortal."

"Along with Spike," Andrew said from the back. Apparently he wasn't as engrossed in the game as Buffy had thought. "They were acting really jealous, so I told them you were dating the Immortal just to see the looks on their faces."

"Oh my God," Buffy said, snorting as she tried to stifle a laugh. She was much too tired to be that angry, but she couldn't let this slide. "I'm going to kill you, Andrew. I was his bodyguard, not his date."

Oz pulled the car into a parking space and the five riders, got out, Dawn complaining about Miss Kitty Fantastico drooling in her ear.

"I think that's unlikely, Dawnie," Xander said. "You were dreaming."

Dawn woke up as she and Xander reached Buffy.

"Was not." She thought for a second. "Was I?"

"Pretty sure," said Buffy. "Unless Miss Kitty made it all the way to New York riding that crossbow bolt. Come on, sis. Let's get you into the house."

In the mansion's foyer and kitchen there were hugs and greetings all around, Buffy nearly popping Giles' arm out of his socket with her embrace.

Willow and Kennedy barely seemed to recognize Dawn: she'd gotten a tan and cut her hair short while in Italy. Kennedy seemed to dig it more than Willow, but then Kennedy didn't remember a time when Dawn wore her hair in pigtails.

And honestly Dawn didn't recognize herself in the mirror sometimes. Still, the new hairdo made her look more adult, which Dawn liked. Even if she had almost eighteen years' worth of memories in her head, there was always that nagging detail in the back of her head that she had only actually existed for four of them. She wouldn't have real memories enough to equal her artificial memories until July 2014, at which point she figured she'd be driving a flying car and too concerned with her mortgage to care much how she'd been The Key.

"Oz!" Willow's voice escaped as a gasp, snapping Dawn back to the present. Oh, damn. Willow hadn't seen Oz in so long, and the last time she had, Oz had gone werewolf and attacked Tara.

To Dawn's surprise, Willow hovered across the room and wrapped the tiny man in a hug. "What on Earth are you doing here?"

"Basking," Oz said. There was a brief pause as he seemed to realize what his words might imply. "But not in a creepy, overstepping boundaries because I wouldn't do that since you're a lesbian now kind of way."

"Of course," Willow said, taking a step back and looking somewhat embarrassed. "It's just Buffy didn't tell me you were coming."

"I did too," said Buffy. "You said it was fine."

Willow looked genuinely perplexed. "When?"

"Sunday night. I told you after the Dingoes concert in Lisbon that Oz offered to lend us a hand setting this whole thing up, that he'd fly back with us."

"Oh." Willow looked pensive for a moment, but then her eyes shot wide. Dawn knew that look well: Willow's remembering-something-sexy look. "I must have been tuning you out because Sunday night we were having—"

"Tacos!" Kennedy interrupted. "Delicious crunchy tacos."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" said Oz.

Giles grunted. "Good lord, Daniel, don't encourage them."

"I won't, Rupert," Oz said, his eyebrow raised suspiciously. "Wow that was weird. Can we not be a on a first name basis, Giles?"

"Agreed."

Oz turned back to Willow. "I didn't mean anything, just. I'm surprised you're happy to see me. I didn't exactly take finding out about you and Tara well."

"Oh my God, you mean he's that Oz, the furry guitarist? I figured he'd be taller," said Kennedy. "Can we see you transform."

"Uh sure, next full moon I'll get right on that," Oz said. "And you are?"

She extended a hand. "Kennedy."

"She's my girlfriend," Willow said, taking Kennedy's other hand. "I kind of told her about you and me when we were discussing how I came out."

"I see then," Oz said, his smile not faltering. "I'm happy you found someone. When I heard about what happened to Tara I visited Sunnydale to make sure you were okay, but you were already in England by that point. I'm seeing someone too, by the way, so I'm like… not here hoping to rekindle or anything."

"No," Willow said. "Of course not. I mean lots of men would think they're entitled to a woman because they had her first, but you're not like that."

Dawn cringed. Whether Wil had intended it or not, there was more than a little bit of venomous sarcasm in her voice. It seemed like nobody in her life could have a non-complicated relationship. Ever since Willow and Tara had fought over magic, it had been one thing after another, and just when it seemed like everything was getting better, Xander broke off his wedding and then Tara had… died.

Dawn clutched her fist at the memory of discovering Tara's body.

Buffy stepped in between Willow and Oz. "Hey guys you want to lay off the passive aggressive a little bit? We're all tired. I for one am ready to sleep a very long time. If you still want to kill each other in the morning, I'll have the junior Slayers place bets. Now skedaddle."

"C'mon, Red," said Kennedy. "We've all had a long week and it's only Wednesday. Let's get some rest."

Willow and Kennedy slipped past Dawn and made their way up stairs, Willow muttering under her breath that bedding with Kennedy was seldom restful.

"I wasn't being passive aggressive," Oz said. "Seriously I just… don't want people to think I'm a creep who has trouble moving on. I'm engaged now you know."

Oz held up his engagement ring. Apparently the girl, an American non-werewolf in London, had proposed to him, something Dawn didn't find the least bit surprising.

"Congratulations!" Giles said, his smile shining despite the obvious weariness on his face, before noticing Buffy's silencing glare.

"Don't change the subject. Willow knows you better than anyone, Oz" Buffy said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "She knows that. But denying it super-specifically like that is just bound to cause suspicion. There should be an encyclopedia article for that: suspiciously specific denials."

"Honestly I didn't say it for Willow's benefit," Oz said, moving to the fridge. He got out a can of beer. "I just wanted to reassure Kennedy—"

"Well at that you failed spectacularly," said Xander. "Kennedy can be kind of… territorial. Now since I drove from Cleveland to New York today so you fine folks wouldn't have to pay for a rental car, I think'll I'll go take a well-deserved rest myself."

Dawn crept up the wooden spiral staircase in the next room and stared up. With three floors in this mansion alone, Kennedy's family must have had wealth that made the Chases look like paupers (before their tax dodging actually made them paupers); this place was just the rarely-used summer home of their less-affluent cousin. Dawn could get used to living in a place like this, especially if the beds were warm.

"Dawn, could you come here a minute?" Giles called from the kitchen. Dawn's feet rewarded her with pain as she trundled back down the stairs, but found the kitchen bereft of Giles. She looked around for a moment until his voice echoed from a door at the far end.

"Out here, in the garage," he said.

Dawn brushed by Buffy and stepped into the garage, where she found Giles standing over a work bench with some sort of glove or gauntlet, mostly assembled. Highly intricate and mechanical, the glove had adjustable straps so that it could fit multiple hand-sizes

"Do you remember what we discussed before you left for Europe?" Giles said. "About potentially harnessing your power as the Key to do good?"

"That glove supposed to help me do it?" said Dawn.

"Well, yes," Giles said. "Though there is some unpleasantness I must warn you about before you consider using it."

"Does it involve blood?" said Dawn. "I bet it involves blood."

"Well, yes, blood may factor into this in a rather key way. No pun intended."

Lilah Morgan stared unblinking at the email on her screen. It was from the Senior Partner who had called itself Mr. Hart. The address was an indecipherable string of demonic characters, but the subject was straight forward enough: You Were Right.

"The Circle of the Black Thorn is dead. You correctly predicted Angel's intentions. You are immediately promoted to acting CEO of the New York City branch, Lilah Morgan. Prepare all personnel for new rules of engagement and await further communications."

"Well," she said. "He can't say I didn't warn him."

She began composing an email. In the subject line, she wrote four words:

We Are At War.

Kennedy's pleasant dream of being back in the City, swinging through the streets like a vampire-slaying Spider-Man in a lacey negligee, Willow-Jane Watson cheering her on, was abruptly interrupted when Vampire Doc Ock's arms transformed into a series of musical tones that shoved Kennedy back into the waking world.

She rolled over in bed, her back rubbing against Willow's arm as she fought to keep her eyes open. Willow was stirring too. The music was bubbling up from Willow's cell phone. It took the pale witch a moment to find it by the dim light coming from its front screen. Willow flipped the phone open and sat up in bed, Kennedy joining her.

"Who the hell is calling you at this hour?" She leaned on Willow's shoulder, but the call was was originating from a number that was just a string of 7s.

"I don't know," Willow said. She pressed the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

A voice came through, but so did static.

"Cordelia!" said Willow. "Oh my God. Last I heard you were in a coma. When did you wake up?"

More static, and the voice said some words.

"I'm sorry. Did you just say you died? And are still dead." Willow's face scrunched up. "That's not something you just tell someone over the phone. I mean that's the kind of news you want to sit down with someone and tell them face to face. And now I just thought about that sentence and realize it was dumb."

Willow paused a moment.

"How are you calling me from the afterlife?"

Kennedy was suddenly keenly interested in this conversation.

"Powers That Be, huh? Um. Well I'm sorry about your loss. I wish someone had told me that you were dead. I might have gone to your funeral or something."

Another long pause as the static seemed to clear up some; this person on the other end, Cordelia, said quite a lot of urgent-sounding words, until the static began acting up again.

"You're breaking up, Cordy but I think I got the gist of it. Los Angeles is in trouble, go help Angel."

"By yourself?" Kennedy said, though Willow held up a hand to shush her, only for a last few words to burst through the phone speaker, accompanied by static. Willow snapped the phone shut.

"No." Willow looked worried. "Cordelia said to bring an army. Wake up Vi and the other Hellmouth survivors. I'll wake up Buffy."

"Okay, babe but, uh…" Kennedy pointed at Willow's naked body. "You might want to put a shirt on first. Your tits are nice, but I don't think Buffy will appreciate them quite like I do."

Willow turned nearly as red as her hair. "Yes, getting dressed is an important step that I should not be skipping."

"Dead?" Giles said. "But she called you. How could she call your mobile if she's dead?"

"I don't remember much of Heaven," Buffy said. "But I think if there had been a phone there I would have called and told you not to resurrect me."

"Look I'm basically as confused as you are," Willow said. "I mean I'm just repeating what Cordelia told me. She said the Powers That Be are 'modernizing'."

"Oh yes," Giles said. "If you speak with Cordelia again tell her to welcome the Powers to 18-bloody-76. But let's table that question for a moment. Do you trust her? I mean are you certain this was Cordelia?"

"I am," Willow said. "Nobody else could talk to me in that smugly-condescending-yet-deeply caring way like she does. The First couldn't even pull a convincing Cassie and I never actually met that girl."

"I trust Willow," said Kennedy. "It's been too quiet lately anyway, on the Evil front."

"Well then I suppose now's as good a time as any," Giles said. "Dawn, will you come here a moment please?"

Dawn stepped into the room wearing the gauntlet, looking especially apprehensive when she saw Buffy.

"What the hell is that?" the Slayer said.

"Dawn and I have been discussing her… unique origins and if they could perhaps be of use to us. As the Key, Dawn has a reserve of untapped power, and perhaps more importantly, as a human, she can replenish that power with a hearty meal and some bed rest."

"That glove will harness the power?" said Buffy. "To do what?"

"To open doors," said Dawn. "I mean that's what a Key does, right?"

"You're more than a Key, Dawn," said Buffy.

"I know. I'm not going anywhere Buffy. I'm still your sister, but there's only so much I can do as a watcher-in-training. If my power can help us—"

"Your power could kill you," Buffy said. "You open a portal and the only way to stop it is if one of us dies."

"No," Giles said. "Dawn and I have been revisiting the texts. The only way to stop it is to stop the power flowing. The wounds Glory's henchthing made to open her gateway were such that only death could close that portal, but we're thinking of something far more localized, limited, and focused. That's what the glove is for. It unleashes enough of the power to open a door and then cuts it off so that the door closes."

"Are you sure it works?" said Buffy.

"I tried it out myself," said Giles, holding out his hand. He had a small and quite painful incision on his left ring finger. "It works. Xander and I built it based on specifications drawn up by Andrew. It was originally meant for blood rituals to summon demons but obviously he's out of that business now."

"Oh, so Andrew designed it," said Buffy. "That's supposed to comfort me?"

"Buffy." Xander stepped into the room. "Dawn is on board with us, and you know us. Giles and I would not do anything to put Dawn in danger."

"Like summoning a dancing demon to give your wedding a happy ending?" Buffy said pointedly.

"I told you I didn't actually do that," Xander said. "I said that I did so the demon would let Dawn go. We just got lucky that the demon pulled a no homo on me. After Willow tried to ax-murder me I learned my lesson about messing with magic."

"You tried to what?" said Kennedy.

"I was under a spell! Buffy's mom tried to kill him too, it's not like I was alone on that particular mob action. And also Amy, you know the girl that made me turn into Warren the first time you kissed me. She turned Buffy into a mouse that day."

"She was more of a rat," said Oz.

"Look as much as I love this trip down memories-I-don't-have-lane," Kennedy said, "shouldn't we be dealing with the demon army in Los Angeles problem?"

"Kennedy's right," Dawn said. "I'm not getting any less nervous here so let's get this thing done."

Giles nodded. "Follow me."

He led them down into the basement of the mansion, where a room had been set aside with a heavy steel door. Giles unlocked it and funneled the Scooby Gang in, followed by Kennedy, Vi, and several other surviving Slayers from the Sunnydale Hellmouth.

"Whoa, talk about your Stargate," Dawn said. "How'd you and Xander McGuyver this?"

Xander shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Let's just say my job gives me connections. Especially when those jobs are in Cleveland a few blocks from their Hellmouth."

Before them stood Giles' project: a bronze circular gateway, twelve feet in diameter, carved with a series of runes that indicated numbers—degrees, coordinates on a map. A motor in the back of room would spin the gate to focus on the coordinates that Giles could input into a computer. He set them for downtown Los Angeles.

"Buffy must be the last person through or the doorway will close," said Giles. "If Cordelia was right about this… well I don't think I need to tell you all to be careful."

Dawn stepped forward, pointed the glove at the door, and clinched her fist. She winced as the gauntlet cut a slight gash in her finger then immediately pressed it closed; the rest of the glove's mechanisms drew the blood into a chamber, aerosolized it, and then sprayed it, a puff of red mist, inside the gate.

Nothing.

Then, a flash of light, electricity sparkling off the metal as the runes that indicated LA's coordinates glowed, as did the slaved stone globe at the rear of the gate. Reality distorted and twisted, and then, a portal appeared, smooth and clear as a mirror. Except instead of reflecting the room, it showed a dingy Los Angeles alleyway filled to the brim with a teaming throng of demons and monsters.

And in the distance, there was a dragon flying.

"Oh shit," Dawn said. "Cordelia was right."

Buffy rested the head of the Scythe on her shoulder. "Dibs on the dragon."

Lady Bella's voidship slowed, the star system that contained Earth growing larger, until they passed through an asteroid belt. Bella had a faint memory of testing her ship's weapons on the fifth terrestrial planet the last time she'd been here. Huh. Apparently it had finally broken up into rocks. At last, the voidship slowed to a relative halt, settling into orbit over Earth. The modern Earth.

It was blue, and so, so beautiful, like a glistening sapphire. Bella determined that it must be hers.

Footsteps clanked into the observation room, stopping just behind her.

"My Goddess," said Scipio. "We have arrived, but there's a complication."

"Yes?"

"The voidship's hull was carved from the bones of a dying primordial god-beast, so that it, like you, cannot enter the material dimension in its true form. The Balance established by the Powers That Be makes it impossible for either hell-gods or heavenly powers to directly manifest on Earth."

"I suspected as much," said Bella. "Nevertheless, I'd hardly have this position if I let such trivial details hold me back. What we need is a window of opportunity. Observe, learn, and ferment a strategy. Only fools rush in, after all. For now, I think I'll have you go down there. Find a battlefield and learn a bit about the soldiers. Feel free to kill anyone who attacks you, but otherwise don't disturb this world's civilians. We may be able to use them."

"And if we can't?"

"Dear Scipio," she said. "A goddess must have her worshipers. I'd rather them not be maimed and broken."

Rain came pouring down in an alley near the Hyperion hotel, drenching four weary figures. One bled from a gash on his abdomen. Two were vampires, beaten, bruised, but able to stand and fight. The last was an Old One, reborn in the body of a mortal girl and mourning that girl's dead lover, wishing for targets on which to unleash violence.

The younger vampire surveyed the forces arrayed against them: hundreds of demons of various types, ogres, vampires, and monsters he had never even seen before, including one that was stories tall, towering over the four fighters.

"And in terms of a plan?" he said.

"We fight," said the older vampire.

"Bit more specific?"

"Well, personally, I kinda wanna slay the dragon." The demon army reached them. Angel raised his sword and charged forward to meet it.

"Let's go to work."