Author: Leroy Gibin,
This work is based on characters owned by Mutant Enemy, Inc. They are used without authorization, but in good faith. All characters not created by Mutant Enemy belong to me. This work may be distributed freely as long as it is without charge, in its entirety and unaltered.
Please read the following FAQ first
1) What is this?
This is a fan fiction novel based on characters and stories created by Mutant Enemy in Buffy the Vampire Slayer(BtVS) and Angel television series.
2) What is it about?
The book is mainly about Buffy and Dawn, but most of BtVS characters are involved to a varying degree. It starts in January of 2004, approximately 8 months after the end of Season 7 of BtVS, and ends in the summer of that year. While it can be considered a "Season 8" based on the time frame it is a novel, a few tightly integrated storylines, not a dozen or so of somewhat interconnected episodes that ordinarily comprise a television series. This work is rated "R" for Violence, Adult Language, Adult Content, and Some Sexual Content.
3) How does it relate to Season 8 Comics?
I started writing this book in part because plans for official sequels (Willow spinoff, Faith spinoff, Reaper spinoff) were cancelled. I didn't find out about the upcoming comics until I was a 3rd of the way through the book so I decided to simply publish what I had so far (Chapters 1-5) in January of 2007. I assumed after Season 8 comic came out no one would be interested, but I was wrong, and encouraged by positive feedback decided to work on finishing the novel. To make sure I'm not influenced by Whedon's almost certainly superior ideas I have yet to read the comic. It's up to you, the reader, to draw any favorable or unfavorable comparisons.
4) How does it mesh with Season 5 of Angel?
Perfectly, I hope. This brings us to the important and complex question of canon. The short answer is that this novel follows BtVS and Angel canon 100%. If, while reading, you feel that this is not the case, feel free to start an email argument with me. Before you do that, however, please read the separate section at the bottom of my definition of "canon". This is a general discussion of what "canon" means on a television show with specific examples from Buffy, Angel, and others.
5) How 'complete' is this 'completed' novel?
I have routinely posted 'cleaner' versions of previously published chapters and will continue to do so, although less frequently. The changes are mostly in grammar, sometimes in style. On rare occasions some scenes are changed/replaced, but this is done to better convey already existing plot lines and/or character development. In short, any change to an already posted version is for greater (hopefully) enjoyment of the work by new readers; none should necessitate a re-read.
6) How do you want your feedback?
In large quantities :) Please send your comments, whether praise, or not, to my email address, I'll do my best to respond to all email; flames will be ignored.
7) Anything else?
I apologies in advance for any spelling and grammatical errors you're likely to encounter. I'm continuously re-reading my work and posting 'cleaner' versions when necessary(see above). Also, if you know a fan fiction site, or a newsgroup where this work will be a good fit, let me know. Thank you very much for reading. At least this far :)
Canon on a Television Series (feel free to skip this if not interested)
Once in a while a television series comes along that creates more than memorable characters and stories, but a new world, a new reality, so vivid and captivating that it is embraced by the fans with seriousness usually reserved for the reality around us. Star Trek is the most famous example. Buffyverse is another. In these cases continuity and compliance acquire a whole different level of importance. A given storyline cannot ignore or contradict earlier storylines. The definition of the word "canon" is "a set of laws". In case of a television series it is a set of facts about characters and events that are considered true and must be obeyed in future storylines. As the series continue, its canon expands. The question is then what facts fall under canon? The short answer is "everything that happens on the series is canon". The key word here is "happens". What does "happens" mean on a television series? We are all familiar with the concept of a plot twist. We watch an episode, or a series of episodes thinking that certain things are happening, but later a revelation is made and we realize that something completely different was happening. The revelation didn't change the earlier episode. It's still there, exactly as it was. What happened, happened. What changed was our perception of what has happened. The later episode didn't break the canon set earlier, it re-interpreted the events. Events are canon, but interpretation is not. How do we separate the two? I like to apply a "court witness" test. Those of us who have seen Law&Order or re-runs of Matlock (though they would never admit the latter even in aforementioned court) know that first hand accounts are admissible, but hearsay is not. What we see on screen is canon, but what we are told happened off screen is not. Let's say Spike comes over and tells Buffy he just ripped the head off some demon. He might be telling the truth. He might also be bragging. It could even be that it was some ass-faced demon and Spike ripped off a part different than what he was thinking, an honest mistake. The act of him saying the words would be canon, the act of him ripping off the head is not. Characters lie. Characters make mistakes. Even oracles and prophecies are not irrefutable as witnessed in the whole "father will kill the son" fiasco. Even supposedly established facts of the show can be flipped on their head with a reasonable explanation, as it was with the "arrival of Jasmine" expose by Skip. Interestingly, Angel writers seem much more open to drastic reinterpretations, while BtVS tends to be fairly straightforward. Of course, as with any tool, one must know the limits of good taste with reinterpretations. I'm pretty sure that on a dare I can create a construct where Buffy is an amnesiac alien from planet Zorg, Dawn is an agent of MiB assigned to watch her, and Anya is actually 7of9 sent back in time to protect the Earth from a new breed of Borg known as Bringers. Changing the inherent nature and motivation of the main cast is a big no. No declaring parts of the show "dream sequences" or "alternate realities", that's a cheap way out. Other than that, I see no taboos. I love logic games and a good reinterpretation thrills me. In fact, one of the motivators for writing my novel were all those glaring plot holes in Season 7. Their presence is understandable: the fate of the show was unclear, there were possibilities of spin-offs. As behind the scenes circumstances changed, new plot lines were created, old ones abandoned and season turned out to be pretty messy. Or so it would seem. What if that's not case? What if all those plot holes are not plot holes at all, but rather openings from which the storylines for future seasons/shows/tv-movies were to be weaved? Assuming that's the case I decided to give my best shot of figuring out what these might be. Here it is.
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When the Demiurge taught Man the art of magics It told Him that every spell has its price and
magic can never change the balance of power. As we stand over our decimated world we bear
witness to this ancient truth. The demonic scourge we sought to eradicate is almost gone, but
so are our cities, our people, and our magics; the whole of humanity is left ravaged by the horror
we have unleashed. We come here, to the vast grasslands and deserts of this continent to save
what is left of mankind. Our struggle has left us weak and not long for this world, but we will
not leave it unprotected. In every generation there shall be a Chosen One. She alone will stand
against the vampires, the demons, and the forces of darkness. She is the Slayer.
Chapter 1: Frantic
Cipriani was unusually empty even for this time of day, but Alberto Tartaglia preferred it this way. While he enjoyed the city life in general, he never liked the hassle and bustle in his immediate vicinity. He preferred to take his time to enjoy his food such as the wonderful scallops in front of him and to observe an occasional patron of the establishment, such as the pretty young blond apparently heading his way.
"Alberto Tartaglia?" asked the young woman with a distinct American accent.
"What can I do for such a beautiful senorita?" smiled Tartaglia. The answer came in the form of a knockout punch to the face of his bodyguard, Roberto. The unconscious man's body slumped under the table. If Tartaglia was planning on voicing any surprise or protest to this sudden attack he could only do so to the indifferent scallops on his plate where his face was being pressed into by this rather ill-mannered individual.
"My name is Buffy Summers." he heard the girl speak. "Your people took my sister. I want her back right now, or I will permanently merge your head with the tableware." The unintelligible noise from the plate prompted Buffy to lift Tartaglia's head a few inches off the plate. "You were saying?"
"There must be some mistake," the man blurted out trying to catch his breath. The sauce was running down his face and getting into his mouth and nostrils. "My people didn't kidnap anybody." Immediately his head was bashed into the plate again, this time with a much greater force.
"I know for a fact that the men that have taken her work for the Vizzini family. I know for a fact that you are their Captain here, in Rome, which means they work for you. And I know for a fact that if I change the angle of your head like this, I'll drive your nose cartilage straight into your brain on the next hit."
"Please, " Along with the sauce Tartaglia was now spitting out blood pouring into his mouth from the broken nose and a bitten tongue. "Please. Those were not my men".
"You did not just say that." Buffy's hand tightened the grip on her captive's hair and pulled back slightly as if preparing for a hit.
"No! Please!" cried the mobster. "I'll explain. The Don, he sent his own men here…for a special assignment. He didn't say what."
"Where are they?"
"I don't..." Tartaglia did not get to finish as Buffy threw him backwards into the wall. She threw over the table with her left hand and punched Roberto, who was starting to come to, in the head with the right. Stepping over his hulking mass, she lifted up Tartaglia by the throat until his feet were no longer touching the ground and slammed him against the wall.
"Whatever you're on," hissed Tartaglia, "I think we can make big money off of it."
"You think this is a joke?"
Tartaglia tried to smile, but the menacing intensity in the eyes of the Slayer sent shivers down his spine.
"No. I think you're a very determined young woman, but I don't know anything else." For a few moments Buffy stared at the man, trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Suddenly she let go. Tartaglia collapsed to the floor, coughing and wheezing. Buffy reached into his inner pocket and pulled out his cell phone. She then grabbed Tartaglia's head and stuffed the phone into his mouth.
"Make the calls and find out where they've taken my sister. I'll find you in a couple hours. Chao"
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Buffy's life in Rome didn't start out too badly. The plane landed slightly ahead of schedule. The apartment picked out by Giles was unexpectedly nice. As any other big city, Rome was rife with vampiric and demonic activity, but just as she expected, the newly activated slayers were more than eager to take over. Led by Stefka, one of the few Watcher educated Potentials that was not massacred by the First last year, they quickly covered both patrol and extermination duties. The only time Buffy needed to use her strength was to open olive jars for her sister. Dawn would pop them like peanuts in front of the TV and occasionally swear at the bumbling AC Roma players. The entire scene looked so out of place that it would invariably draw taunts from her elder sister, not unlike the one that began their conversation less than a month ago.
"I'm happy you're becoming more Italiany, Dawn. But did you have to turn into a guy?"
Dawn flashed a brief greeting smile and quickly tuned back to the game on the screen.
"You just don't get it, Buffy, futbol, by its very nature is a quintessential girl sport."
"In America, maybe."
"No, that's not what I mean," Dawn popped another two olives. "What's the first thing people notice about soccer?"
"Nobody ever scores?" Buffy put on her slippers and went into the kitchen.
"Precisely! Low scoring," Dawn continued a little louder. "Basketball, that's a guy's sport. It's expected that a basket will be made every thirty seconds or so, so all you get is a few high fives and move on. Soccer, on the other hand, is very unpredictable. You can go twenty, thirty, or even forty minutes before you achieve the big Gooooooal. But when you do, there's a really big celebration that lasts a minute or two. Of course, sometimes despite all the work being put in you get no Goooal at all, which while frustrating, is, unfortunately, a fact of life," Dawn turned to her sister who just exited the kitchen with two glasses of lemonade and a mildly horrified expression on her face, "What?"
"Nothing. These are exactly the kind of things I want coming out of my little sister's mouth. Why couldn't it have been a Catholic school? I had the brochures," Buffy handed one of the glasses to Dawn and sat on the couch beside her, "And why is there still soccer in the middle of winter?"
"It's middle of summer, actually. Roma's doing a bunch friendlies in Brazil and Argentina," said Dawn taking a sip from the glass. "How did your orientation at the university go?"
"Great," said Buffy pretending to watch the little striped figures moving chaotically on the screen. "There are a lot of interesting things to consider"
Dawn turned and stared intently at her sister who was still futilely pretending to watch TV.
"And what did the Chosen One choose?"
"I'm still weighing my options," Buffy replied in a slow, absent tone.
"Did you even go?" Dawn's voice started to hit the high notes it always did when she became angry or overly frustrated.
"Of course I went. See all that pretty glossy paper?" Buffy pointed to the stack on the coffee table.
"They have those at the door."
"I went"
"The full three hours?"
Buffy didn't respond.
"You promised me you'd go!" Dawn's frustration was really gushing now. Buffy put down her glass and got off the couch before facing her sister. Dawn has grown a full three inches taller than her, and while Buffy had no issues telling off an eight foot demon, the height advantage of her younger sibling made her uncomfortable.
"And I did. But in case you didn't notice, I already have a little job called the Chairman of the Slayers' Council."
"So you were at the clubhouse the rest of the day?"
"That's right. Taking care of official slayer business," Buffy watched as Dawn stood up as well, took another sip of her glass and with that all knowing look she has so often seen on their mother's face said,
"You do know that I'm going with Stefka to the movies tonight?"
"You have to stop that, Dawn. You don't get to tell me what to do."
"Then who? If not me, who? Mom's dead. Dad's in... in locations unknown, and Giles is in England. It's just us, Buffy, me and you. So it's up to me to take care of you."
"Take care of me? I'm your older sister, Dawn, and you're taking care of me?" Buffy pronounced dramatically with a badly faked Italian accent. Dawn grimaced as though her latest sip of lemonade has somehow become devoid of sugar.
"That is quite possibly the most horrible Godfather imitation I have ever heard. Please tell me you're not doing this in front of other people."
"No, just pets. Yesterday at the park I saw two dogs going at it and I told them that I hope their first child will be a masculine child," smiled Buffy, quite pleased that she was able to lighten the mood so successfully.
"You know, Buffy," Dawn grew serious again, "I just worry sometimes".
"Well, don't. So I didn't do much today, but my night is going to be pretty busy."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. And I'm going to start by getting a broom from the kitchen closet."
"You're going to clean? That's your big plan?"
"No, I'm going to use it to chase you away from the TV and into your room to study for that Trigonometry final."
"Sounds like fun."
"Loads of it. And I get to do it every night for the next five weeks."
"Actually, it's four"
"Then we better not waste anymore broom chasing time," said Buffy and pretend lunged at her sister.
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They took her then. Coming out of the Mathematics building. They grabbed her and shoved her into a van. Her backpack tore, spilling its contents onto the side of the road. Samira tried to chase down the car, but all she could bring back to Buffy were pencils, two lined notebooks, and a copy of Trigonometria Avanzata. The ransom call came just an hour later. It would have been so much easier if they just asked for money. The leads were numerous, but the time was short. With less than two hours left in her six hour deadline Buffy headed from Cipriani to the clubhouse where under the pretentious name of International Women's Youth League the Slayer school conducted its training. Buffy found Dino Parreli in the study staring into space; opened books covered the desk in front of him. The elderly Watcher has joined the Rome office less than two months ago. Slaughtered along with their charges by the First's disciples, their headquarters in London blown to smithereens, the Watchers became a scarce commodity with less than a dozen active members around the globe. Giles has ran himself rugged trying to entice his ex-colleagues back from retirement and the private sector to help educate the hundreds of newly activated slayers. The seventy-eight year old Parreli was one of a few that agreed to give the organization a second spin. He was a right fit for Rome, where he could concentrate on teaching theory and leave the practical weapons training to Buffy.
"Well?" Buffy shouted impatiently from the doorway. Parreli slowly turned his head and stared at her for a moment, then took off the reading glasses and looked again at the Slayer who was now standing next to him.
"Anything?"
"I found no record of the Scythe being used in dark rituals. In fact, when Miss Rosenberg used it to turn all Potentials into slayers, it was the first recorded non-battle use of the weapon. However, it is one of the most powerful artifacts on record, so I am sure it has varied applications."
"If I knew what the Vizzinis want with the Scythe, then I could trade it for Dawn and get it back before they do whatever it is they want to do with it. I cannot just give them this kind of weapon and hope for the best!"
"I'm sorry I can't be of more assistance. If it helps, I am confident that Miss Rosenberg's spell is irreversible, even with the Scythe. The slayers she activated will have their powers for life," Parreli was speaking in a low, tired voice, trying in vain to maintain eye contact with Buffy who kept pacing around his desk. Suddenly she stopped.
"Good. Let me know if you find anything else," and she walked out the room. Parreli sighed and put the reading glasses back on. Europe's oldest and most prestigious occult organization is being run by a young American girl with no manners. Things have certainly changed.
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The old man was not entirely correct. While Buffy was the official head of the Slayers' Council, the day-to-day operations were conducted by her ex-Watcher Rupert Giles from the reconstructed London office, and to a lesser extent, by Willow Rosenberg from Rio, and while the latter was also a young American girl, the red headed witch's manners were impeccable. At the moment this quality was coming under a ferocious assault as Buffy called her for the sixth time in the last hour and twenty seven minutes.
"I need good news, Will, and I need them now."
"Actually, I have managed a minor breakthrough."
"You don't sound too pleased"
"Well..," the witch's voice indeed sounded rather bleak with a sprinkle of fake cheerfulness put on for her friend's sake. "I've determined with certainty that Dawnie is alive and is somewhere in south-central Italy, so that's something."
"Yeah, that's just this side of nothing. Forget it, just get down here. We'll need you for the storm of Vizzini's compound."
"You think Dawn is there?"
"Maybe. It's not like you're giving me a better option."
"I'm really sorry, Buffy. Whoever put up these locator spell barriers really knew what they were doing. I'm sure I can break through with a little more time."
"You can continue working on it when you get here. How long will it take you?"
"I'll need half an hour or so to get the supplies together and I'll teleport right over."
"Half an hour then," said Buffy and hung up. For a moment she wondered at what point did Willow's teleportation ability began to be taken for granted. Then again if the witch managed to bring her back from the dead two years ago, what's so hard about moving people and objects on the mortal plane? It certainly helped them save a lot of money on air fare in the first few lean months, before Giles was able to reestablish some of the financing channels of the defunct Watchers' Council. After her spell transforming Potentials into slayers, Willow was widely regarded as the most powerful witch in this world which made their current predicament all the more alarming. Whoever has kidnapped Dawn wasn't trying to get the Scythe for its archaeological value, if they are able, at least temporarily, to match strength with Willow. With these thoughts running through her head Buffy took a left into the dorm corridor and opened the door to Stefka's room.
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Discovered as a Potential Slayer at the tender age of eight, Stefka Bulanova spent almost ten years with the Watchers. Watcher educated Potentials were the first to fall under the knives of the First's Bringers. Suddenly the opportunity to prepare for their possible destiny as the Slayer no longer seemed as attractive as the relative safety in anonymity of being undiscovered. Most of those who managed to escape did so by fleeing to Buffy's protection in California. Stefka was one of only seven that survived without her. Her advanced knowledge of demonology and superb fighting skills have quickly propelled her to a top position in Rome. As weeks went by Buffy even let Stefka replace her as the slayers' regular fighting instructor. They sparred together a few times, with Stefka invariably throwing the fight in a way that would appear natural to the spectators.
"You don't think I can beat you on my own?" Buffy asked her after another one of their sessions.
"No," the lanky girl answered, wiping her face with a towel. "You're very strong, your reaction time is excellent, and you have a few nice original moves, but you severely lack formal training and your overall strategy is absolutely incoherent. At full strength I would defeat you on that mat every time."
"Oh, that's it!" Buffy was indignant. "Get your overeducated ass back in the training room and I'll teach you some manners that apparently your Watcher didn't cover!"
"You misunderstand me. The reason I win is because it is not a fair fight. You can't use your most powerfully weapon. "
"You think Mr. Pointy has magical powers?"
"I don't mean your stake. The reason you're the greatest Slayer who has ever lived is because God has given you strength beyond all who came before you or since. Strength which you are able to tap to defeat any enemy when it matters, no matter its strength or skill. The reason you don't win against me is because you know you don't have to. I don't stand a chance against you in a real fight. I understand that, and, in time everyone else will too. For now it is easier this way, and it's right. The outcome they see might be fake, but it is a higher truth. "
"So lying is good now, huh?" Buffy smiled tentatively, unsure as how she was supposed to react to this compliment. "I definitely have to check out your church."
Stefka smiled back and left the locker room without saying another word. Buffy wasn't sure if she might have offended her. She didn't have much experience interacting with devout religious people. Insane cult leaders, shamans, and warlocks, sure, but not the regular church going folk. Stefka was more than just church going. While she cut down on Jesus references as more slayers from the Middle East joined the school, her speeches, instructions, and examples were decidedly sermon-like, full of religious overtones. Her free time was also spent in a similar fashion. Aside from regular, twice-a-week, visits to the church, she prayed in her room daily for quite lengthy periods of time.
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This day was no exception. As she expected Buffy found Stefka in her room, kneeling before the icon of St. Nicholas. This time there were two candles in front of it. When she heard Buffy enter, Stefka immediately jumped to her feet and turned to face her teacher. She was almost six inches taller than Buffy. Her long straw blond hair, tied into a single braid, went down her back to the point where the dark brown pants met the dark gray shirt.
"Anything new?" she asked, her large blue eyes transfixed upon the Slayer.
"I have confirmed that Dawn's abduction order came from the top, which makes it more likely we'll have to attack Vizzini's mansion in Modica. Andrew has just arrived there. He should start sending you reconnaissance photos at any moment."
"I'll restart the drills as soon as we have the layout of the compound. If you want to go over the final make up of the team.."
"It's alright," Buffy interrupted, "You spent more time training them than I have. I trust your judgment."
Stefka nodded politely.
"I should speak to them though, shouldn't I? They've been trained to handle demons with swords, not thugs with M-16s. I would go by myself, but there's just too many exits to cover.."
Stefka reached out and gave Buffy's hand a tender squeeze.
"It's Dawn," she said, "Everybody understands. They're all eager to help."
Had it come from any other person Buffy would not have believed it, but she knew Stefka would never lie to her. This strange devotion the girl had for her was as comforting right now as it was unnerving just a few weeks ago.
"It's weird", she complained once to Dawn over breakfast. "She makes me feel like I'm some sort of a supreme cult leader."
"Really? How strange. I mean, it's not like you have a bunch of young girls who left behind their families and possessions to live under you hospice in a heavily fortified compound chock full of various weaponry."
"Oh my god. You right, I'm David Koresh!"
"Nah " Dawn shook her head, pouring milk into her bowl. "You're not a true cult leader until you start having sex with you disciples. Kennedy could probably pull it off. What?" she inquired of the look across the table, "Don't tell me you haven't noticed"
"It's nothing," Buffy's unequivocal response was contrasted by the hesitating chopping of her pancakes, "So her eyes wondered a bit. She's just that kind of personality. Doesn't mean she's cheating on Willow"
"She is restless, and that kind of personality does not get her tongue pierced simply as a fashion statement if you know what I mean"
"No. Enlighten me. Please"
There was a long uncomfortable silence as Dawn kept her eyes fixed on her cereal trying to avoid the older sister's stern glare.
"Anyway, " she finally spoke, still not daring to lift her head. "I wouldn't worry too much about Stefka. At least not until she gets a St. Buffy icon to go with her St. Nicholas."
"And that's another thing, what is with her and that icon? What is she's praying for all the time, better Christmas presents? Suddenly, a letter to the North Pole is no longer good enough? Santa's pet!"
Dawn responded with undecipherable gurgling sounds as she was choking on her cereal.
"Aaah, " she finally sighed with relief and wiped little droplets of milk from under her nose. "That's funny. Actually I looked that up. For the Orthodox St. Nicholas is the patron saint of sailors and lost children. He has nothing to do with their Christmas."
"Good," said Buffy, still in the same mockingly stern voice, "Because my Secret Santa limit is thirty euros, regardless of who I end up with."
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Buffy left the school for the meet with plenty of time to spare. She gave the assembled strike team a quick look over, but left most of the speechifying to Stefka. The part about the enemy being out to get all of the slayers, while possibly true given their desire for the Scythe, would have seemed too self serving coming from her. Besides, Buffy wanted to run through the possible conversation with the kidnappers a few more times in her head. She was confident she could extend the deadline by a few hours. The designated phone booth was empty. Buffy made a few quick glances up and down the street and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, walked in. Small confined spaces have always made her uncomfortable, even before she had to claw out of her own coffin. At least this one was vertical. She checked for the dial tone, then for loose change. She spent the next few moments trying to read the French version of the calling instructions. She knew she was being watched and tried to appear as confident and as nonchalant as possible. Suddenly a knock came on the booth door. Buffy turned and saw a thirteen year old boy on a bicycle.
"It's busy. Go away!" she shouted through the door. The boy knocked again.
"There's no way you can be both blind and death," said Buffy opening the door. "Beat it before I beat you!"
"I was told to give this to you," the boy handed her a small wooden box.
"To me?" Buffy gave him a puzzled look.
"Yes, a man told me to give this to a blond American woman that will come to this phone at ten." Buffy looked suspiciously at the box, then the boy.
"What man?"
The boy shrugged. "A man, I don't know. Gave me ten euros to give this to you. Oh, and a message, too"
"A message?"
The boy looked up at the sky for a second, trying to remember. "It went like this, 'We thought you could use a three hour extension. If you wish to purchase more, let us know, you have credit for another seven.'"
"Is that all?"
"That's all," said the boy, "Then he got into a blue fiat and drove away."
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Alberto Tartaglia was pouring himself a glass of wine when he thought he heard a commotion outside the room. The kids were supposed to be upstairs asleep, and the wife, while prone to throwing dishes and vases, wouldn't do it out there with him at home, she always preferred a target. He moved towards the study doors just as they were thrown off the hinges.
"I was beginning to wonder what was keeping you," smirked Tartaglia. Buffy didn't answer, but menacingly approached the mobster.
"Hey, hey, " Tartaglia raised his arms in a sign of surrender. "I've been a good boy, I got the information you wanted." Buffy stopped, still without dropping a word.
"The name is Adriano Chelli. He is the Capo in Napoli. Vizzini trusts him more than his own sons. He got here two days ago with a couple of other guys that no one's heard of, " Tartaglia took a long sip from the glass and continued. "They got a couple of cars from Consta Moisiu, the Albanian mechanic on the south side. Stolen, of course, but with proper paperwork and plates. They inquired about discrete residences, too, but didn't like what they were offered. I would guess they found something elsewhere."
"What does he look like?" Buffy finally spoke.
"Chelli? Young guy, late twenties. About meter eighty, seventy five kilos or so. Wears a big golden pinky ring."
"Tattoos?"
"Probably, but nothing visible."
"Cars' descriptions, license plates"
"Couldn't get them, you'll need to talk to Consta personally." Tartaglia picked up a small paper and handed it to the Slayer. "This is the shop's address."
Buffy took the paper and put it in her jeans pocket.
"This is your life, here," she said. "You better not have lied to me."
"Break my face once, shame on you. Break my face twice, shame on me," smiled Tartaglia, scratching his bandaged nose. Once Buffy disappeared through the now doorless doorway, he took out his cell phone and carefully stepped into the corridor.
"You know the grease monkey you talked with at Moisiu shop?" he spoke to the person on the other end as he walked. "This is not getting traced back to us, do you understand? No, someone is heading there right now. Take care of this once she leaves." Tartaglia hung up. That cocksucker Chelli thinks he can just stroll onto his turf and stir trouble? Let's see him handle this crazy bitch. He stopped at the front door and sighed looking at once again unconscious Roberto slumped over the wall with his head jammed through the boards. "I really should get more bodyguards."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The main conference room was reminiscent of a scene in a police detective movie. The slayers were typing away at computers, answering phones. Samira was the first to see Buffy enter and tugged Stefka on the sleeve to get her attention.
"I have dispatched everyone except for the strike team to sweep the city." she said, running up to the Slayer. "The rest are checking all the city cameras for the plates you've given us. It's just a matter of time."
"Time we don't have," Buffy answered grimly, "Where's Willow?"
Before Stefka could answer her, Buffy's phone broke out into a high pitched version of "Night on the Bald Mountain".
"Where, the hell, are you?" she shouted into the microphone.
"Milan, I'm boarding a plane right now," the witch sounded tired, almost resigned.
"Milan? Plane?!"
"Whatever is blocking the locator spell, is messing with my teleportation. I've been bouncing all over Europe and North Africa. Milan is the closest I've been able to get. I decided it'll be safer to just fly from here than risk ending up in the middle of the Sahara again."
Buffy closed her eyes trying hard to maintain self control.
"How long?"
"Including the drive from the airport? Two hours at most. Will that work? When is the exchange?"
Willow didn't get her answer as Buffy was bashing the phone against the desk in a fit of frustrated fury. The work and conversation in the room stopped as everyone was staring at Buffy with fearful curiosity. Finally she stopped and unclenched her fist. What could only be qualified as phone dust sipped through her fingers onto the floor.
"Give me your phone," she turned to Samira.
"Mine has terrible reception..." she scrambled, "And the battery is low... take Kate's."
"Mine?" the freckled redhead jumped up. "It's even worse. It barely functions... Actually I pawned it," she sank guiltily into back into her chair, "I'll get it back, I swear!"
"Here," Stefka handed Buffy hers, "What did Willow say?"
"Her teleportation spell is not working well; she's taking a plane from Milan." The words were coming out slowly, mechanically as Buffy was looking past Stefka, half lost in her own thoughts.
"Wait a minute, if Willow can't do teleportation, how are we supposed to get to the Vizzini compound?" Buffy walked out of the room without answering.
"So what do we do?" Samira asked Stefka.
"You and your decrepit phone are coming with me. The rest of you, keep searching for Dawn!" she shouted running out after Buffy. They caught up with her on the basement stairwell. Buffy was jumping over flights, reaching the storage area in less than thirty seconds.
"Why didn't Willow tell us sooner?" she heard Stefka from behind. "If she told us she was having issues, four hours ago, we could have charted a plane, shipped our team to Sicily ahead of time."
"She couldn't," Buffy was fast walking past the armory and into the artifact storage, speeding up her pace each time Stefka and Samira tried to cover the ten meters separating them. "That's always the trouble with our little group. Each of us thinks she can fix her mess without help from the others. It almost never works; just messes up things more. But we keep doing it. We all do it." She emerged out of the restricted vault with the Scythe in her hands. "That's our nature."
Stefka put her hand on the Slayer's shoulder as she was about to walk past her.
"You can't do this, Buffy"
"I have no other option," Buffy headed to the door, but Stefka stepped in her way.
"This was never an option. We'll do all we can to get Dawn back. We'll risk our very lives, but giving them the Scythe would endanger the entire world."
"I don't care. I won't have anymore pieces of my sister given to me."
"Parreli said the fingers were cut off as soon as she was taken, before they even contacted you. She might already be dead." Buffy stepped around Stefka without saying a word. The latter put herself between Buffy and the door again.
"What you are doing is wrong, Buffy."
The Slayer looked at Samira behind her, then looked back at her star student and smirked.
"I remember we had a conversation once. You were saying something about you and me, about practice fights versus ones that really matter. Which one do you think this will be?" She stepped around Stefka once more. This time the tall blond stood still.
"This can't be good," said Samira as soon as Buffy disappeared in the stairwell. "We should call Mr. Giles."
"No," Stefka answered, her voice a little shaken. "Nothing has changed. We still storm Vizzini compound, only now we're looking for the Scythe instead of Dawn. We need a plane, vans. Maybe helicopters," she sounded more confident with each sentence uttered. "Come on".
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It was close to midnight when Adriano Chelli arrived back at the safe house. Naldo stood watch in the doorway. Sat watch would be more accurate as he slumped against the door, smoking.
"Shit!" he exclaimed noticing Chelli, "Is it time already? I haven't gotten a turn since dinner!" The capo gave him a puzzled look. "They promised me one more turn at least! You tell them they'll be sorry if they welsh on me!"
Chelli grabbed Naldo by the collar and lifted him to his feet.
"Shut the fuck up, and stand watch properly," he whispered angrily. The sheer unprofessionalism of the men assigned to him drove him crazy. None of this made much sense, the team, the target, the rough treatment he was ordered to give her, but he has learned never to question old man Vizzini. If he was given these freaks and charged with obtaining a big shiny metal axe, then the big shiny metal axe he shall deliver. He stepped inside the dark house and took the creaking stairs into the basement. In the sparsely lit room two men were playing cards. The room stank of alcohol, smoke, and sweat. The grunting in the far corner stopped and the third man approached Chelli, zipping up.
"Look who's back!" he smiled crookedly and scratched his beard. "What do you guys say we let him ahead of the line?"
"I don't have time for this shit," he could barely contain his disdain. If these were his men, he'd whip them into shape long ago, but as they were hand picked by the Don there was no telling what kind of connections they had, "We're leaving for the exchange in thirty minutes. I want her cleaned up and presentable by that time, you got it?"
"Sure thing, Capitan," said the dealer. "We promised Naldo, one more shot, though. The poor guy has been all by himself up there for hours."
"Right, " his partner sneered. "Why don't you go get him?"
"Screw you! You just want to slip one in, while I'm up there, you know it's my turn. Why don't you get him, Carlos?"
The bearded man took a beer bottle from the table and shook his head.
"I had guard duty the last time, I'm staying here."
"Oh, for the love of God, I'll get him!" Chelli gladly rushed back upstairs. A few more minutes with these assholes and he'd definitely shoot every last one of them. When he came out, Naldo was again sitting at the bottom of the steps, but with a young gypsy girl next to him.
"What the fuck are you doing now?"
"I'm getting my fortune told, " smiled the gangster. "She's really good."
"I can tell you your fortune, you idiot. In about thirty seconds you'll be without your wallet and watch."
"I'm no thief, Mister," Zemfira smiled coyly at Chelli. The girl looked about eleven, her raven black hair pulled back into two braids prominently displaying her round gold earrings, far too large for the tiny ears they were attached to. She stood up and walked over to him.
"Let me see your hand, and I'll tell you what's to come. If you don't like it, you don't pay."
"They are waiting for you downstairs," Chelli turned to Naldo, "You have ten minutes, no more. I'll stay here."
As Naldo disappeared inside the house, the girl took Chelli's hand and started tracing it with her small, thin fingers.
"You love line looks bright, " she said almost singing the words. "There's an obstacle there that is about to be removed. The money line is even stronger; you're expecting a big windfall very soon."
"You are quite good, " he smirked. "What else do you see?"
"Your life line... interesting..." the girl fell quiet, her head almost buried in his palm.
"What about my life line, gypsy?"
Zemfira turned her face towards him, the moonlight glistened off her long fangs.
"It looks like it's run its course," the vampire growled.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Through the dirty ceiling of the phone booth the moon looked brownish with a green tint. The square was surprisingly empty. In Rome, tourists strolled about every street at all hours of the day. Even this out of the way place was packed when she came here the first time, but in the past half hour Buffy watched the last of the crowd melt away like a root beer float. She glanced at the phone again. It was five minutes till they call with the drop off place. She had nothing to do, but watch the moonlight play in the blade of the Scythe at her feet. A phone ring immediately brought Buffy out of her trance. She momentarily grabbed for receiver before realizing the ringing was coming from her cell phone.
"Did you have Alice stake out Tartaglia?" said Stefka as soon as Buffy picked up.
"Yes."
"She just called"
"Why would she call you?"
"Because I activated a new phone with your number. You have mine, remember? Somebody is trying to kill him."
"What?"
"Alice saw two armed men dispose of the outside guard and enter the apartment. It looks like an assassination in progress. Are we protecting Tartaglia or just tailing him?"
"Strictly surveillance."
"Alright. I'll have her call the police. I'll let you know if this is related to Dawn as soon as I find out anything." Stefka quickly hung up, but Buffy stared at the phone for a few moments. This can't be good. Even if Tartaglia's assassination was just a coincidence she still lost a valuable source of information in case Dawn is not returned. She shook her head trying to clear her mind of these unpleasant thoughts, but the horrors of the worst case scenario kept creeping inside. Again the phone rang, and once more Buffy grabbed for the booth receiver instead of her cell phone.
"What is it now?" she whisper shouted. Somebody was crying on the other end.
"Buffy?"
"Andrew? This is a bad time. Call Stefka," she said frustrated.
"I thought I did."
"Right. She has my number now," she was about to hang up.
"They are all dead," she heard.
"Who's dead?"
"Everyone," the young man whispered, "Everyone at the compound."
"Vizzini's compound? What happened?"
"It was all burning and they kept shooting and shooting..," the young man's speech became unintelligible again.
"Andrew, calm down, are you in danger?"
"No," He suddenly stopped crying, his voice now calm and somber. "They left. They killed everyone and left. If they saw me, they didn't care."
"Who are 'they'?" Buffy was trying hard not to spook Andrew, but anger and frustration were sipping into her voice. She was supposed to receive the drop off call six minutes ago and deep in her gut a terrifying realization was beginning to rise that she will never receive that call.
"They were jumping out the windows... women... kids... burning... and they just kept shooting, and shooting, and shooting, and..." A call waiting signal interrupted Andrew's babbling.
"Just stay put. Stay out of sight," she added anxiously "Someone will come and get you." She switched to the other caller, "Yes?"
"Buffy," Stefka's voice was worried and unsteady. "I was just looking at the latest pictures of the compound..."
"Andrew just called," Buffy interrupted, "He's in shock. What the hell is happening there?"
"There was an attack; an assault helicopter with support on the ground. The building went up in flames. I can't tell if it was the helicopter missiles or explosives inside the compound." There was a pause. Buffy could hear the frantic mouse clicking on the other end as Stefka was flipping through the pictures on her computer, "The shooters seemed to cover every exit," she continued, "I don't think anyone made it out. I don't think Dawn was there," she quickly added, "If she ever was there they had to move her for the hand off long before. They will probably call soon."
"No, they won't," said Buffy. For a moment, while Stefka spoke, she almost fainted, but a second adrenalin wind kicked in allowing her to temporarily collect herself, "They most likely have heard of what's going on and are either hiding or running from whoever is wiping out the family. We have to find them first. Where's Willow?"
"She's here. Almost. Samira is driving her from the airport."
"I want her to get the locator spell going. I don't care what she has to do. I want people deployed to airports, train stations, and bus terminals. Whoever is left I want them canvassing the city. Knock on doors if they have to. We have the plates, the color, and make of the stupid van! I want it found!" She eased up a little as she felt the cell phone starting to crack in her tight grasp. "We have a few more Vizzini related contacts besides Tartaglia," Buffy said a little more calmly. "I'll take those since they might also be targeted for assassination. Check in with me every half hour or in case of anything call worthy," she hung up, gave the silent pay phone one last glance, and walked out of the booth.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The leads were evaporating faster than they appeared. The informants Buffy managed to find alive knew nothing about the hits, and the dead ones weren't much for talking. It was close to four in the morning when she got a call from Stefka. It was only twenty minutes since the last and that meant she had something.
"We found the van," she said. From the depressed tones in Stefka's voice it was clear she didn't think of it as good news.
"Where?"
"Just outside the city. Firefighters were called in for a fire due to explosion. I had Kate check it out. They found what once was a van in what used to be a garage. The plates were half melted, but we've got a partial match. She talked to the neighbors and they said there were men periodically standing at the front door. The descriptions match our kidnappers. The firefighters found some body pieces, but they don't yet know how many people, or if there were any female remains..." The rest of the conversation was a blur. She thought she told Stefka to keep the search going, but she wasn't sure. Just as she wasn't sure how long she has been wondering the streets afterward. It was still very dark, but the air smelled of the coming sun. Buffy waited for it with dread. In the light of the new day the events of this one will seem so much more real, so final. As the first sign of the reality reared its ugly head, Buffy started to feel the advent of physical exhaustion. She hasn't eaten or even sat down in over sixteen hours. She plunked herself in a chair on the sidewalk and looked around. She might not have paid attention to the streets she was walking, but her subconscious has guided her to within a few blocks of her apartment. The table and chairs on the sidewalk belonged to Dino's Pizzeria, the owner must have forgotten to bring them inside for the night. Buffy slowly traced the table pattern with her hand. It must have been the same table she sat at two days ago...
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"I knew I'd find you here with your coffee".
Buffy looked up, squinting at the bright sun. Her sister was standing over her, backpack on one shoulder.
"No you didn't, " she said pushing out one of the chairs with her foot. "This is your favorite pizza place. I never been here for coffee before in my life."
"Not true, " Dawn said, setting down her things. "According to Plato you always come here."
"It's Wednesday. Fourth period was Classical philosophy. I keep blocking it out," Buffy mumbled into her cup.
"Plato says that all creation is derived from heavenly templates which are perfect forms of each thing," continued Dawn paying no attention to Buffy's words. "A perfect horse, a perfect Slayer, a perfect coffee shop. And all the coffee shops are nothing more than imperfect shadows of the actual thing. So, wherever you go, you're always wasting your mornings and afternoons in the same coffee place."
"Interesting," Buffy took another sip. "Only wouldn't I then be wasting this morning in a crooked version of The Pizza Place, instead of The Coffee Shop?"
"Not if you're only drinking coffee," Dawn responded, a little unsure.
"I see. So if you were eating your usual sausage and mushroom you'd be in a different place than I am?"
"I guess. Yes."
"Excellent!" Buffy smiled. "Then hurry up and order."
Dawn shook her head in a mock disapproval.
"What is this fascination with solitude you have acquired? You know I could be a little more tolerant of you spending your days caffeinating yourself into a frenzy if you at least didn't do it alone. I'm sure this city has plenty of lazy slobs that would be glad to share some Half&Half with you."
"I'm not letting you set me up again," sighed Buffy watching their conversation take the usual turn.
"Okay, Mario was kind of a disaster, but Antonio was good for a few laughs, wasn't he?" said Dawn just as the waiter put the pizza plate in front of her. Buffy watched as the girl took ravenously to the meat, dough, and cheese concoction in front of her. The arrival of food gave Buffy an opportunity to change the unpleasant subject, but her ingrained sarcasm took the better of her.
"Maybe you'll be better at picking boyfriends for me, once you get one yourself," she said.
"You are totally right," Dawn responded with a full mouth. "My personal life is so pathetic. I mean my seventeenth birthday came and went and I still haven't slept with a vampire."
Buffy couldn't help chuckling. She loved Dawn's comebacks, almost as an art form, even when they came at her expense.
"Speaking of the handsome and supernatural, " continued the younger Summers, "How about a certain someone who keeps sending you flowers, candy, and an occasional demon head?"
"I'm not going out with the Immortal," came a quick reply.
"Why not? He is smart. He is charming. He's beyond gorgeous. And I am eighty percent confident he is not evil."
"Well, if it's eighty percent.."
"I'm not saying, 'marry him'. Have coffee. God knows you doing plenty of that already." Dawn took another slice of pizza and proceeded to chew it thoughtfully. For a while their conversation gave way to the chatter of traffic.
"You know I've been reading up on retirement depression," Dawn began again.
"Is that the perfect heavenly Depression reflected through the prism of old age?" said Buffy as the waiter refilled her cup.
"Ha-ha. Very funny. It's actually very pertinent."
"Clearly. Except for the retired and depressed part. If you're done spiking that fanta..."
"Oh? Let's examine your case shall we?" said Dawn handing her sister back the sugar bowl.
"God, I miss California schools where kids don't actually learn anything," sighed Buffy.
"You've been the Slayer since you were fifteen," Dawn continued. "Protecting the world from demons, vampires, corduroy pants, and other forces of evil. You had a destiny. You were the Chosen ONE."
Buffy rolled her eyes. She knew exactly where her sister was going.
"Sure, a little later Faith came along, but Miss Knife-Wielding-Psycho only emphasized the importance of your chosiness..."
"'Chosiness?'"
"'Chosination'? 'Chosinosity'? The point is that now, thanks to Willow, there are more slayers than you can shake a stick at, and for the first time in eight years you are free to do whatever it is you want to do. Only you don't know what it is, so you sulk. It's classic," Dawn leaned back in the chair and bit off a huge chunk of pizza as though rewarding herself for a well made point.
"I know very well what I want to do," Buffy answered methodically blending sugar into her coffee. "It's called chilling continental style. You sit in a cafe on a sidewalk, sip really good coffee from a really tiny cup, and stare at the passers by. All I need is to take up smoking and I'll be all set."
Dawn shook her head. "It's all an act," she said trying not to spray the food she was chewing. "You don't really like it."
"No, I love it."
"Please! Life without duties and responsibilities thy name is not Buffy."
For a moment Buffy looked intently at the young woman in front of her. Her long, flowing brown hair accented the swan-like neck and the large gray eyes stared back lovingly and playfully. "She turned out prettier than I am," Buffy thought without a hint of jealousy.
"I still have responsibilities," she said out loud. "I have to keep an eye on you. And the way you go for that last slice of pizza, you're more ferocious than any hell hound. Plus there's something quite evil about you eating two thousand calories a meal without gaining an ounce..."
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
The cell phone rang. Always guarded against frittering her time away on frivolities, Stefka never configured her phone. The persistent, annoying factory ring slowly brought Buffy back to reality. She collected herself, wiping away the tears, and took the call just as it was about to go to voice mail.
"I found her!" Willow's voice was trembling, "The spell, it worked. She's alive; she's at your apartment! Buffy? Buffy?!" Buffy didn't hear her anymore, she was running.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Buffy burst through the door, slightly panting from the fast run. The apartment was dark and quiet. She clearly got here ahead of Willow or Stefka.
"Dawn?" she called out, rushing into the living room. The room was very dimly lit by the light coming from the kitchen. Buffy was about to run there when she noticed her sister sitting on the corner of the couch, staring at the floor. Both of her hands were bandaged. The Slayer rushed towards her, sweeping her up in a tight hug. She then pulled away taking Dawn's head in her hands, looking into the girl's face. It was freshly and skillfully made up, but dark bruises still peaked through the foundation and even the heavy eye shadow could not hide the redness from constant crying and lack of sleep. As their eyes met, it seemed Dawn noticed Buffy for the first time, She put her hands on the Slayers back and gently pulled her closer. They hugged again, Buffy guiding Dawn's head to her shoulder.
"You are safe now", she spoke softly, slowly stroking her hair. "It's all going to be alright".
"You're correct, miss Summers. But it will take a little bit of work on your part as well." Buffy quickly pulled Dawn behind her. Now that her eyes had a little time to adjust she could see a silhouette in the far corner of the room. "Do not be alarmed," the man continued. "I'm here to help. Continue helping, to be more accurate."
"You are the one who's been killing Vizzinis," Buffy turned on the floor lamp close by. It was still hard to make out the person sitting in the far chair. He was dressed in a dark suit and shoes. His right hand rested on a cane, while his left was propping up his chin, hiding the part of his face that was not covered by large round sunglasses. His English was far better than Buffy's Italian, but the hard r's gave away his Slavic origins.
"Why?"
"It's my job," came a short reply.
Buffy smirked.
"What are you, some secret government bureau in charge killing mobsters and their kids?"
"No, miss Summers. I'm the Arbitrator."
"The what?"
"The Arbitrator. I mediate disputes, conflicts, and enforce agreements with fair and, very importantly, binding decisions. By kidnapping your sister Vizzinis have violated the terms of an agreement between your organizations. Being hired as the Arbitrator on that agreement it was my duty to act."
For a few seconds Buffy simply stared at the man in the chair. Who, the hell, was this guy?
"I never had any agreements with Vizzinis and I definitely didn't hire you to arbitrate anything."
"No, the head of the Watchers' Council, the late Mr. Traverse, was the signatory on your end. Now, it's true that your organization has underwent a serious restructuring and even a name change, but as far as I'm concerned you're still the party on the agreement I arbitrate with all the advantages and liabilities it implies. If you lost your copy, another one can be provided."
"Do that. I'll a take look and we'll discuss it later," said Buffy, pointing to the door.
"Yes, we will. But I did not come here to simply pay my respects. There's a pressing business matter to attend to." His answers were curt, but the tone was calm and measured. Buffy had a hard time telling if she was pissing him off, and while it might not have been the wisest course of action, she wanted to very much. Vizzinis have escaped her wrath, but the man in front of her was clearly a mobster and a murderer as they were. Did it matter that he was temporarily on her side?
"Good, we're finally cutting through the bullshit. So what do you want?" Her curiosity was fighting a loosing battle with her anger.
"Rome is no Moscow and Modica is no Zhitomir. The Italians won't stand for houses being blown up with missiles and broad daylight executions. There will be a crack down on organized crime. Crackdowns are bad for business. The remaining families will hold you responsible. Myself as well, of course, that's why I'm here, I have a plan to avoid a confrontation."
"So do I. I give them your head on a stick as a warning to all the gangsters who think they can screw with me."
"That's a valid plan, but mine is much easier to implement and is bloodless," The man in the chair seemed to pay no attention to Buffy's threats or frustration. He continued to speak in the same robotic tone, his left hand, once propping up his chin, was slowly drifting higher up his face. It seemed as though he was bored with his own words.
"Vizzinis are leaving behind considerable assets," the man continued. "The legitimate ones such as restaurants, real estate, and bank accounts will go to next of kin. The illicit ones such as smuggling routes, cocaine distribution network, illegal waste dumps, protection racket, and prostitution now belong to you."
"Great, and here I was wondering what's missing from my life. Apparently it was the ho's."
"I understand these are hardly the enterprises you want to get involved in. That is why you should use them to buy off the other families. Distribute them fairly and at a discount price and situation will be resolved peacefully."
"And I suppose you want a piece, too?"
"I do not. My income is derived from a percentage of the cash flow generated as the result of treaties I arbitrate. Having businesses of my own would damage my impartiality. I do, however, expect that given my track record you will choose me to arbitrate the agreements you make with the families. I will make sure the compensation you're entitled to is paid in full."
"I'm not interested in mob money".
"It doesn't have to be money, Miss Summers. The mob often trades in favors. Collectively the families own quite a few politicians, judges, and the police. The Watchers' Council would not have been as effective at their work, latest fiasco excluded, if it had not used government resources. "
How do you get rid of this guy?
"I'll think about it," was the best Buffy could come up with. Leshii stood up from the chair and limped up to the Slayer, stopping just an uncomfortable few inches before her. He was about a meter eighty, thin, dressed in expensive black suit. He was dragging his right foot, propping himself up with a cane, also black, with richly gilded handle. Black round sunglasses hid most of his face. There was something a little off about his nose and mouth at close proximity and it occurred to Buffy that he was wearing a mask or heavy, movie-style makeup.
"My card," he handed her a usual rectangular piece of carton. "Do not take too long, the window of opportunity is limited." He opened the apartment door and walked out. Buffy quickly locked it behind him.
"I should go to bed." Dawn's words were almost a whisper. It wasn't clear if she was talking to her sister or herself. She started walking, but tripped on the coffee table and nearly lost her balance. Buffy caught her, lifted her in her arms, and carried the girl into her bedroom. She undressed her and tucked her in and when Dawn opened her eyes twelve hours later the first thing she saw was Buffy sitting on the floor at the foot of her bed, just like she was when she closed them.