Night had descended several hours previous over the bustling metropolis of Reno. Daylight had come and gone, and, by all estimates, the population should have retreated to its latent homes. However, great swaths of blazing neon lights still carved into blackened city blocks, illuminating the 'burg even at half past midnight, and a cacophony of assorted sounds rendered sleep nearly impossible.
Damon Salvatore reclined behind the tinted windows of his Mustang convertible, lurking in the inky shadows of a sprawling country club pool house. A raven with feathers of varnished charcoal perched unnoticed atop a windowsill, gazing out over the swarm of adolescents infesting the building. Had circumstances been as usual, Damon himself would have been the driving force behind such festivities as this classic party scene, but, since the destruction of Bonnie's necklace, his sunny exuberance had dampened significantly. Nevertheless, the reckless youth inside of him craved even the most meager of escapades, and so he had compromised with a pre-meditated feeding and homicide. His victim of choice, a stunning young woman fresh out of high school, exited the pool house with a chorus of shouted "good-bye"s and wearily started towards her car. From its vantage atop the till, Damon's raven croaked ominously, a knell which was ignored by the girl as she approached her vehicle.
Cat-quietly, Damon knelt, concealing himself behind a Volkswagen Beetle's hunched silhouette. Wickedly curved incisors protruded past his curved upper lip, and the veins surrounding his eyes tightened in anticipation. As the girl reached the driver's side door, Damon lunged, just as a frenzied series of explosives detonated in his mind. The blindsided predator fell, screaming muddled obscenities and inane expressions of agony. His would-be victim smiled maliciously, allowing him to writhe in potent mental anguish for a few moments longer before abruptly extinguishing the fiery torment.
"Who are you?" gasped Damon, clutching his violently protesting skull while rancor shone out through his eyes. "What did you do to me?"
The girl took a seat on the hood of her car, crossing her trim legs at the ankle. "Isn't it obvious? I'm a witch, and I just set off a series of aneurysms inside your brain," she responded cordially.
Damon sat up cautiously, his interest piqued. His thoughts flitted rapidly between this new threat and Bonnie Bennett, thoroughly comparing the two. This witch did not resemble Bonnie in the least, with a cascade of black hair the color of a moonlit night flowing down her back and eyes of a mesmerizing grey, but she possessed the same aurora of sententious confidence boasted by Bonnie. The confidence of an individual who has perceived no danger in the creatures of darkness, and exists knowing nothing supernatural can harm them.
"You've been following me for days," continued the witch scornfully. "Honestly, you should have better selected your target. Vampires are no threat to witches unless they catch us with our guards down."
"Thanks for the pearls of wisdom," grunted Damon, gingerly removing his hands from his head. "But, now that you've made an enemy of me, I might just do that."
"You won't."
"And why is that, Buffy the Vampire Slayer?"
"Vampires are impulsive. Normally, your anger would have made you attack me again, but you stopped wanting me dead the moment you found out I'm a witch. That, coupled with the fact that your mental defenses just doubled in strength, means two things. A), you want something from me, and b), you won't tell me what it is, yet."
"You're smart, Buffy. I might spare you."
"Attack me again, and I'll conjure up a wooden stake. Now, what is it you want, and why would you possibly think I'd help you?"
"I can read people, too. You'll help me because you're bored," explained Damon, the sneer evident in his tone. "I've been watching – I know. All those parties? The drinking? All the time spent lighting fires and stuff, which I now realize was experimenting with your powers? You're just trying to make your short, pathetic human existence interesting. Think about it: if you've known I was watching you, why wouldn't you kill me and be done with it? Because you want something from me. Maybe the evil vampire has some sort of master plan. And if I do, you want in."
An interminable silence stretched on as the witch pondered Damon's words. It seemed a sort of conversation chicken between them; she did not want to be the first to shatter the silence, and she definitely did not care to admit that Damon's twisted proposal had intrigued her.
"Maybe I do want a bit of excitement," she conceded, and a satisfied grin played upon Damon's lips. "What would I have to do?"
Mentally celebrating his miniscule victory, Damon leaned on the girl's Volkswagen and began loftily, "So, I've got this friend. She's a vampire like me, and in the year eighteen sixty-four, a witch named Emily trapped her in a tomb underneath a church to save her life. The token used to seal the tomb was recently destroyed, but I've been told it can't be the only way to open the tomb. Apparently, a strong enough witch could get the job done."
Nodding slowly in accord, the witch called on a small fire and observed as it danced across her palm. "Okay…"
"Damon. Damon Salvatore."
"Okay, Damon. Can you promise me I'll be safe on this little adventure?"
A smirk, a mocking chuckle. "Nope. If I said otherwise, I'd be lying, and I'm not allowed to do that anymore."
The witch smiled, the dim light from her fire casting muted hues of orange cart wheeling across her features. "Good. Where is this tomb, exactly?"
"A small town called Mystic Falls, Virginia. Cute, quiet place, except for the recent outbreak of chaos and vampire attacks," replied Damon.
"Virginia? Never been there. Well, we'll need to stop at my apartment before we leave. I'm going to need a few things," said the girl matter-of-factly.
"Like what? Mascara? Nail polish? Tampons?"
"Like candles, herbs, clothes, my cat, and a very large amount of vervain," the witch corrected icily.
"What, you don't trust me?" inquired Damon, presenting a comical ruse of innocence and batting his dark eyelashes. A moment later, his frown returned. "Hang on. Your cat?"
"Yes. He's a Witch's Cat, and so he should be helpful." With a thunderous roar that was quite unanticipated considering its size and cutesy appearance, the Beetle erupted to life, and its occupant donned a refined jacket of crushed velvet.
"A what?" asked Damon, puzzled.
"A Witch's Cat. Witches have the ability to bond with a feline of their choice, and that animal becomes a sort of reservoir of back-up energy if they ever need it. Some cats can even perform weaker hexes on their own," said the girl.
"Okay, then. We'll bring the cat. Should I follow you in my car?"
"Yeah, unless you want to drive mine across the country." The witch emitted a dainty snort, patting her vehicle's dashboard affectionately.
"My car it is. Hey, I never asked, which is probably appropriate for me in terms of my usual rudeness – what's your name?"
"Celestial."
