Disclaimer:I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Smallville or any other intellectual properties appearing in or being referenced in this story.

Author's Note:, HAPPY 20TH ANNIVERSARY TO BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER!Today, March 10th (is it March 10 where you are? It's March 10 where I am), 20 years ago, 1997, the first episode of the Buffy tv show aired. This show has meant so much to me growing up, I can't even begin to put it all into words.

So, despite saying I'd take a break, in honor of the Buffy 20th, here's one more little story.


"This was something different, something else. I don't think this was a meteor mutant...I think this was a real vampire." - Clark Kent


"Clark, I need your help."

Clark looked up from his round coffee table. "Everything okay, Lana?"

Lana Lang clutched her metallic serving tray to her chest with one hand. Her eyes darted to one side, then back. She sat opposite him and leaned in.

"There's this guy over there. Corner table. Blonde guy with glasses, English…"

Clark glanced over and saw.

Lana bit her bottom lip. "I don't...there's something about the way that guy...he's been staring at me all night. It's giving me the creeps."

Clark's eyes grew steely. "What do you need me to do?"

"Can you stick around till close?"

Clark nodded.

Lana sighed in relief and graced him with her lovely smile. "Thanks, you're a lifesaver."

Hopefully not literally this time, Clark thought, but he gave Lana a smile and a nod to reassure her.

She touched her hand to his forearm, and for about three seconds he forgot the creepy guy in the corner as he watched her walk away.

Then he crammed that soaring feeling down into the little lead box where he kept all the things that could hurt him.

Clark turned a little in his seat, hands on his mug of hot chocolate, fiddling with it to appear nonchalant. From this position, he could keep Creepy Guy in his peripheral.

It wasn't just Lana, this guy watched everyone in the Talon like a cat watched trapped mice. He had this lazy smirk, like he was the only one in on some cosmic joke.

The hairs on the back of Clark's neck stood, and he felt his heart rate start to tick up. Anticipation, but anticipation of what?

Something about this guy was brushing up against Clark's alarm bells, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Sure, there was the look, that ravenous look like a starved man placed before a buffet table. Creepy Guy directed it to everyone, but it grew deeper when he directed it at young women, and deeper still when he directed it at Lana.

Clark clenched his teeth. He thought about going over and telling the guy off. But for what? For sitting in a corner? For being vaguely creepy? For looking at people? Besides, there was more. Something besides they way he was watching everyone had Clark worried, but he wasn't sure what.

Clark heard a loud crack coming from right below him. He jumped in his chair. Several patrons near him looked over. Clark looked down.

Crap.

He'd gotten so tense, he'd shattered the handle of the blue ceramic mug.

"Oh my god, Clark."

Clark wiped ceramic dust and pieces off his hand as Lana strode over to him.

She grabbed his hand before he could protest, carefully examining it. She quirked an eyebrow. "Wow, you're fine."

Clark's heart was racing for another reason now. "Well, it's all the farm work. Makes for tough hands."

"So you say. But you don't have a callous on you." Lana's fingers drifted over the skin of his palm, leaving pins and needles in their wake.

Clark drew his hand back. "Maybe I just lucked out. How much for the mug?"

Lana smirked and shook her head. "Come on Clark, that's not on you. Clearly the mug was defective. I'll handle it."

Lana reached down to take the mug. Clark placed a hand over it.

He looked her in the eye. "I insist."

Lana's smirk withered. "Clark, no. Come on. It's fine."

"I broke it, I should pay for it."

"Well, Clark, I own the damn place so if I'm saying you're not paying for it, guess what you're not doing. Quit being so stubborn!"

"Lana-" Clark stopped himself. People were staring now. He took his hand off the mug. "Sorry."

Lana took the mug and stood up stiffly. She started to walk away, then she turned. "Refill?"

"Yes please." As Lana walked back to the counter, throwing the broken mug away as she did, Clark glanced over at Creepy Guy. He was staring at Lana with a shark's grin.

Clark felt his blood start to rush. He took his hands off the table and laced them together in his lap, closing his eyes and taking long breaths to calm himself.

He wondered if there would ever come a time when he no longer needed to fear losing control every second of every day. Probably not.

Lana came back and swept up the broken fragments. Clark thought about insisting he do it himself, but decided he'd pissed her off enough for one night. The worst part was that she thought he was being totally unreasonable. He couldn't tell her that he had, in fact, shattered the mug with his superhuman strength and that it was totally his fault.

So he swallowed his guilt and her vindictive silence. There were many things he adored in Lana Lang, but even he would be the first to admit the girl could hold a petty grudge like no one.

Clark gave her space and kept one eye on Creepy Guy as the night wore on. Customers came and went all the way up till close. There wasn't a whole lot to do in Smallville. Especially for young people, especially after dark, and especially legally, so the Talon was busy more or less all night long.

Lana eventually started booting everyone but him out the door. The last to leave was Creepy Guy. Lana asked him in her now well practiced 'Customer Service Voice' to please leave when he finished because they were closing.

The man smirked his long lazy smirk, it reminded Clark now of the indulgent smile adults sometimes wear when they are humoring the nonsensical rambling of small children, and he strolled out the door.

Lana closed the door behind him and locked it. She turned around to face Clark, leaned back against the door and sighed.

She seemed to be forgiving him, so Clark smiled. "No rest for the weary."

"Service with a smile," Lana said giving him an exaggerated plastic grin. Through grit teeth she said, "all day every day."

Clark shook his head. "I don't know how you manage it. Need any help?"

Lana shook her own head. "Lex gets mad about that kind of thing. Something about payroll something or...to be honest, I was only half paying attention, but apparently it's illegal or something."

"Ah, that's just Lex's big city style. You know that out here in Applepie, USA we do things differently."

Lana snorted. "Well, alright...but only because I really don't want to do this all by myself."

Clark got up from his seat when he heard something. He closed his eyes and focused, blocking out his other senses. With the closing of his eyes sight fell away, smells fell away, his whole sense of self, of the movement around him fell away.

His hearing stretched well beyond the range of humans, reaching out through the building and beyond into the night air. Footfalls from around the back. He heard a long drag of breath and the crackle of burning paper. Someone was smoking and pacing by the front of the alley behind the Talon.

Clark opened his eyes, let his mind focus on his other senses. The soft and distant noises fell away as he stopped concentrating on them and he collapsed back into himself. Clark turned so he was facing the direction of the alley and focused again, this time on his sight. He felt a buzzing in his eyes and the world dissolved into the strange vibrant neon colors of what Clark was pleased to call his "X-Ray Vision" despite being almost certain that it had absolutely nothing to do with X-Rays.

He pushed his vision through the walls of the Talon, past brick and mortar, past piping, wiring, and a rat's den- he should find a way to clue Lana off to this later- and out into the alley. There was Creepy Guy, cigarette in hand, eyes on the back door.

Clark grit his teeth as the world receded back to the inside of the Talon, and then returned to regular color.

"Let's get this done," he said, "and I'll walk you to your car."

Lana gave him a warm smile. "Thanks. And sorry, it's just...that guy earlier really spooked me. Have you ever seen him before?"

"No," Clark said as they started cleaning and stacking chairs on tables. They finished quickly, admittedly cutting a few corners.

"Let Jessie take care of it in the morning," Lana said.

Clark smirked. "Good to be the boss, huh?"

She stuck her tongue out at him. They nearly got into another fight when Lana tried to get Clark to accept payment. Clark compromised by asking to take home some of the unsold bagels that were just going to be thrown out anyway.

Together they stepped into the back alley.

Clark's eyes scanned up and down. Creepy Guy was nowhere to be seen. After she locked up, Clark walked Lana to her car door.

"This is me," she said.

"Oh no, you've been turned into a car?"

Lana snorted. "Clark, you're not funny."

Clark gaped, aghast. "Are you telling me that the 'Clark Kent One Man Stand Up Show' isn't ready to take America by storm?"

Lana popped her door open and moved toward the driver seat. She leaned on the door which lay between them like a fence. "Don't quit your day job."

Clark sighed and shook his head. "Los Angeles, Conan O'Brian...wait for me."

Lana snickered. She reached out and touched his arm again. "Thanks again, Clark."

Clark met her eyes. The joking light was gone out of them. She was hopeful now, waiting, her breath held still.

Clark felt a force on his body, trying to push him forward, trying to bend him down, closer. But there was more than just a car door standing between them.

"Goodnight, Lana."

The hopeful stillness ebbed away. She said nothing, only nodded. She jerked her hand off his arm and got into the car. She slammed the door and the engine roared to life.

Clark stepped back and watched her drive off into the night.

Clark leaned back against cold red brick. He closed his eyes and for a while thought only of breathing. He opened his eyes again and looked up at the stars.

"Of all the towns in all the worlds, you had to drop me in hers."

"Aww, lover's quarrel?"

Clark glanced down the alley as Creepy Guy stepped into view, no cigarette this time.

There you are, Clark thought, a little guilty that he'd almost forgotten about the man. Clark pushed himself off the wall and turned to face Creepy Guy. Creepy Guy had hands in the pockets of his blue jeans, strolling down the alley toward Clark.

This alley didn't have any working lights. Something Clark had complained to Lex about more than once. But that didn't bother Clark. Even just the light of the stars and the moon were enough for his inhuman eyes to see clear as midday.

The darkness, Clark realised, also didn't bother Creepy Guy. He walked down what should have been to him a pitch black alley without breaking stride, his approach would have been nearly silent to a human.

"Don't worry about it too much, kid-"

Clark thought Lana was wrong, the man's accent was Australian, not English.

"-these things that seem like the end of the world when you're in highschool usually wind up not being that important. Well, not that you'll ever learn that first hand." Creepy Guy stopped within arms reach.

Clark felt his fists curl into tight balls. He focused on getting them to loosen up. This guy might be a cretin, but if Clark lost control of himself the man would end up crippled or even dead.

"You're a big one," Creepy Guy said. He started fishing in his pocket for something.

Clark glanced at the man's pocket. The colors of the world shifted again and he was looking into the man's pocket at his fingers closing around a fancy looking metal lighter.

"To be honest," Creepy Guy continued, pulling the lighter out, "I had my heart set on the little dish behind the counter. Lana, I think you called her. I was gonna drink her up like an ice pop. She had this air about her...I was betting she tastes like cherry-lime. Good on you to walk her to her car. You botched that plan well an' good. Haven't ya heard? They say chivalry is dead. Still, guess it means you're on the menu, ey? You're probably a bit tougher than what I was hoping for, probably a bit saltier too… but hey, desert should go last anyway right?"

The protracted food metaphor was making Clark's skin crawl. Something about the way the man said it almost made it seem like he was being literal. Clark could smell Camel cigarettes every time the man opened his mouth. Clark's nose twitched. He couldn't shake the sense the cigarettes were covering another smell coming from the man's mouth. Clark couldn't put his finger on it, not without more focus.

"Just to be clear," Clark said, "so that I know what to tell the police, you are threatening myself and Miss Lana Lang with some unspecified form of bodily harm?"

Creepy Guy's shark smile was back again. "Well, I guess I am at that."

Creepy Guy held up the lighter and flicked it on. A small orange glow illuminated them both.

"Oh this?" Creepy Guy said in response to a question that hadn't been asked.

Clark didn't think it was possible, but Creepy Guy's smile grew even wider. "All the better to see me with."

And then it happened. Clark's world changed forever.

The man's face distorted, skin stretching grotesquely, bones shifting and grinding as the whole thing transformed. It only took a second, but to Clark it was almost forever. His superhuman perception let him capture every step of the change in terrifying detail.

Clark stood, stunned. Creepy Guy lashed out with the hand not holding the lighter. Clark had seen boxing on tv before. Some of the top tier pros could throw punches that reached up to 35 miles per hour. They trained night and day to reach that pinnacle of human striking power.

The punch racing towards Clark's face was probably twice that fast, easy. Despite the delay caused by shock, Clark brought his arm up in time to block the jab. An impact like that, with the punch traveling that fast and the block coming up faster, would have shattered the arm of a normal human.

Obviously, Creepy Guy was not a normal human.

Clark had brought his arm up so fast the paper bag with his bagels ripped and dropped to the floor. Creepy Guy stared at his blocked strike in shock as a baker's dozen everything bagels bounced around his feet. Then the hand holding the lighter dropped it. The flickering flame began to descend as Creepy Guy lashed out with the other arm, thrusting his hand at Clark's throat. He kept his fingers straight and together like the blade of a spear.

Clark caught sight of the man's long fingernails, filed to points. Clark blocked that strike too, but the angle made the nails slice through his sleeve and scrape at his skin. They couldn't penetrate, but Clark could tell from the way they felt that they were sharp as steel knives.

Creepy Guy snarled in a way no human should be able to and struck again several times, even faster. Clark blocked the flurry of blows best he could, strips of his coat being shed as collateral.

The lighter hit the floor and Clark leapt back to put some distance between them. Creepy Guy didn't wait. His eyes, now a pale yellow after his transformation were shining with fury. He leapt after Clark, fingers bent like talons, mouth open wide and letting Clark see two pairs of large pointed fangs.

It can't be, Clark thought as Creepy Guy was sailing toward him. Clark pushed. His open palm landed squarely on Creepy Guy's chest. Some old, subconscious terror had grabbed hold of Clark in that moment. His fear powered his strike. More power than he'd bargained for.

He felt the man's ribs and sternum crack under his hands, heard the snapping of bone and a violent expulsion of air. Probably one of the man's lungs collapsing from the pressure.

The man was sent flying back across the alley. His back hit the wall first and Clark heard a crack. Then the back of the man's head hit the wall and rebounded and Clark heard a crunch. The man dropped to the floor and lay there, limp.

Oh no. A bolt of terror shot through Clark. He rushed over, dropped to his knees.

Please, no!

He felt for the man's pulse. Nothing. Clark held his fingers there in disbelieving hope. No heartbeat.

The man was dead. Clark felt daggers of cold stab into his chest. He took shaking fingers off the man's neck as the world spun around him.

No.

Clark toppled backwards and landed on his rear. His eyes were on the man's body, but Clark wasn't seeing anything. His mind was somewhere far away, somewhere that felt like nowhere at all.

"Gah."

Clark's eyes sprang back into focus at the sound of a gasp. He looked down. Creepy Guy groaned and turned over slightly.

"What the hell?" Clark said. He must have gotten it wrong. He reached over and checked the man's pulse again. Nothing.

"What the hell, what the hell, what the hell, what the hell?" Clark repeated the mantra. He noticed some further things, the man's skin was cold. Colder than a human body could ever get, and his face had returned to normal. Clark was staring in disbelief when he was suddenly flooded with light from behind him.

Clark turned and stared into the flashlight beam being held by a tall man in his mid fifties.

"Deputy Waeland?"

"Clark?" Deputy Waeland's light lingered on Clark before sweeping over to Creepy Guy. The old deputy was like a worn vintage car that still ran strong as ever contrary to the second law of thermodynamics. He rushed over. Clark jumped out of the way. Deputy Waeland bent over the man and felt for a pulse.

Clark saw his face turn sheet white and knew the Deputy had made the same discovery he did. The Deputy turned to look at Clark. He opened his mouth to say something.

Clark's heart was racing. What to do?

Creepy Guy groaned again and twitched.

Deputy Waeland jumped back, dropping his flashlight to the asphalt with a clatter and a yelp of "Jesus!"

The Deputy stared at Creepy Guy, one hand over his heart. When the man moaned and shifted again, Deputy Waeland bent over and scooped up his flashlight. He backed away from Creepy Guy.

"What happened here?"

Old instinct cut though Clark's terror. "I don't know."

The beam of light was in Clark's face again. Deputy Waeland gave him an even look. "You don't know? Clark, this guy looks like he's been hit by a truck. And that truck's cousins all came along to join the beat down. You telling me you just found him here like this?"

"Yeah."

Deputy Waeland stared at him a while longer. "Alright. Listen to me, Clark. I'm going to go back to my car and call an ambulance. Go home."

Clark stared at Deputy Waeland and blinked. "Really?"

The Deputy nodded. "Really...though, tell your father he owes me a fishing trip."

Clark nodded. "I will. Thank you…"

Clark looked back down at Creepy Guy. Colors shifted and he was looking into him, at his skeleton. The ribs were a mess, the sternum cracked in half, part of the coxal bone was cracked and the back of the man's skull had been caved in.

Which was terrible.

But the terrifying part was the blood that barely circulated through the body despite the fact that the man's heart was clearly not beating.

"Clark?"

The world snapped back to normal and Clark turned to face Deputy Waeland.

"You okay?"

Clark blinked. "Deputy...listen, be careful with this guy. I think he's dangerous."

The Deputy frowned and glanced over at Creepy Guy's collapsed form. He looked back at Clark. "And what makes you say that?"

Clark felt his thumbs twitch. The same old instinct to deceive kept him on track. "Just an instinct."

"Instinct, huh?" Deputy Waeland gave the man on the floor a thoughtful look. "Alright, I'll be careful. Now hurry up and git before someone else comes by."

Clark nodded, thanked him again, and left the scene. He heard Deputy Waeland call the ambulance on his radio. Once Clark found an out of the way spot where he was sure he wouldn't be seen, he broke into a sprint.

He shot over the Lowell county countryside in a blur that would have left any cars in the dust. He ran through the usual routes straight for home. He stopped in the driveway, staring at his idyllic little house. Clark slowly spun, looking out over the Kent farm.

Everything was the same. The house, the fields, his mother's garden, the barn. But everything felt different. Clark leaned on one of the fence posts that flanked the dirt driveway leading to his home.

What was that? he thought.

The man had to have been a meteorite infected, right?

A meteor mutation with those specific symptoms in that exact combination?

Clark felt a frigid finger move up his spine. But it can't be...it couldn't possibly be an actual vampire. Right?

Just like there couldn't possibly be an alien wandering around a small town in Kansas, right?

I mean, if there were monsters in the world, someone would know by now, right?

Just like if the world was full of people with unnatural abilities caused by rocks from space people would know, right?

That's different. That's...I mean, magic can't be real. Magic is...it's storybook stuff.

Is what people would say if asked if there were aliens on earth. Yet here he was.

Clark groaned and got up. All he was doing here was psyching himself up.

If I really want to know, he thought, I'll investigate more tomorrow.

So Clark walked back into his house. He met his parents and told them an edited version of the night's events. He told them he was attacked and the man was probably mutated. He left out the fangs and the unbeating heart and the vampire suspicion. He had been about to say it, but couldn't.

Like saying it would make it more real somehow, make it present.

His dad had freaked when Clark described how he'd nearly crippled the man. Clark hadn't glossed over that. He'd been raised to take responsibility for his mistakes. As egotistical as it might seem to say, Clark's mistakes did in fact tend to matter more than other people's.

After a while they all calmed down. They had dinner. They talked about other things. The warm light of his home and his family suffused Clark, banishing the cold darkness to a distant corner of his mind. He nearly forgot about the night's events.

But later, with his parents and most of the state asleep, Clark lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Outside in the night the crickets were singing. Crickets had never sounded sinister before.


Clark rose with the sun. He went out to do his chores and came back to find his father staring at the phone receiver like it might turn into a snake at any moment.

"Dad? What's wrong?"

Jonathan Kent turned and looked at him. "That was Marsh."

Deputy Waeland. Clark felt his heart start to jump.

"He said that the man he took in yesterday escaped from custody."

Clark's eyes widened.

"He wants you to go down there and give a statement."

Clark ran a hand through his hair. "What should I do?"

His father seemed to consider it. "Go. After class. Marsh's a friend. If there was gonna be trouble for you, he'd tell it."

Clark nodded. Then he said "Dad...I think you and mom should stay inside tonight. Don't invite anyone in, okay?"

His father frowned at him. "What makes you say that?"

Clark shook his head. "It's not really anything I know...nothing I can prove. Just...call it an instinct."

His father took a deep breath. Clark worried his father would be stubborn about it.

"Well," his father said, "I guess that should be fine. Just remember, Clark. Be careful out there. No matter what, don't get discovered."

Clark almost rolled his eyes. He'd heard that one about a billion times over the course of his life on Earth. Fortunately, his quick reflexes let him catch it in time.

He got ready and just barely caught the bus.

He crammed himself into his usual seat next to his oldest friend, Pete Ross.

"Yo, Clark. I need you to do me a favor my good, excellent, long time friend with whom I share a bond which is really more like a brotherhood-"

Clark didn't resist the eye roll this time. "-who is it?"

Pete grinned. He leaned in close, though over the cacophony of chattering students they probably wouldn't be heard even at full volume.

"The lovely Miss Zechlin."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Lori Zechlin. Really?"

Pete shrugged. "A man's gotta live life to the fullest, Clark. Take risks."

"She doesn't seem like your usual type. Her style is very…"

"Clark," Pete said, putting a hand on Clark's shoulder. "I am a young man on a journey of self discovery. How can I ever learn about myself if I refuse to try new things?"

Clark shook his head. "If you say so, though I'd try a less creepy way of putting it in the future. But I've explained to you before that this thing I do isn't an exact science-"

"-I'm aware-"

"-and you shouldn't be putting so much reliance on it."

"Clark. I know. It's just, in the game, every advantage helps. So, can I count on you or can I count on you?"

Clark rolled his eyes again, but he was smiling. "Fine, fine. Whatever."

Pete grinned again. He pumped a victorious fist. "Haha, yes! C-man the wingman."

Then Pete turned his head from one side to the other and leaned even closer. Clark again thought that this was unnecessary.

"So," Pete said, "will you be uh...you know...practicing today?"

Clark scratched the bridge of his nose with a thumb. He wondered if he should tell Pete. It might do him some good, to share his suspicions with the only friend who knew his secret.

But that same fear from the night before gripped him. He didn't want to believe it himself, and there was this irrational, powerful feeling like if he admitted the possibility existed, then it would be actuality.

"No," Clark said, "I don't think I'll be practicing today. I've got some chores to do after class. I don't know how long they'll take."

Once I know more...once I know for sure what I'm dealing with, then I can tell Pete.

Pete leaned back into his seat. "Damn. Oh well, be sure to let me know if you do decide to practice. You know I don't miss a second of that."

Clark smiled and promised. They talked about inane things all the way to school, and once again the light almost banished the darkness entirely.

After they'd reached the school and filled out of the bus, Clark led Pete around the back to the bleachers where Lori Zechlin was to be found, seated a few rows up reading a book.

Lori Zechlin could have been cut out of a Gothic Girl magazine. Black hair, black eyes, black eyeliner, lipstick, nail polish.

Black on black on black contrasting with her pale skin. Silver jewelry gleamed from her ears, her wrists, her belt, her neck. One of the several deliberate challenges to the school dress code that so often sat her in detention.

She was a REBEL with capital everything, the circled 'A' for anarchy sprayed on every stop sign. The most important thing to her, near as Clark could tell, was that everyone know how little she cared about their opinion. She spent a lot of time and energy on it.

Clark stopped where he could watch her unnoticed. "Alright, go."

Pete took a few deep breaths before he started walking up the bleachers.

While Clark could phase out his senses to extend one, he could also do the reverse. Focus all his senses on a specific point, or in this case person.

The sounds behind and around him faded away. His vision blurred at the edges until he existed in a tunnel with only Lori at the other end. Like this he could see every pore on her face, every fiber in her clothes, hear every beat of her heart and the slightest change in her voice even from yards away.

He watched as Pete approached and she looked up from the book she was reading, The Golden Bough by a James George Frazer.

Pete greeted her, said some things that escaped Clark. Focused in like this, Clark was basically insensate to everything that wasn't his target. The important part was Lori's reaction.

The dilation of the pupils, the tiny jump in pitch, the quicken of the pulse, the blood that flowed beneath cheeks. There for a second then fading.

Clark smirked. Winner, winner.. there may even be chicken involved in some dinner-like capacity.

Then Lori turned and saw him. Same reaction.

Oh dear.

"Yo, Clark!" she called out to him.

I did warn him not to rely on this too much. Clark let his perception expand back out to normal. He smiled and walked up.

"Hey, Alice." he said.

Lori's mouth twitched in a flash of a smirk. "See, Pete, Clark knows how I like to be called."

She got up and came down the bleachers. Clark could smell Marlboro smoke. "When's our next match-up, Kent?"

Clark shrugged. "You know me. Farm chores all day every day."

"Boo. You're pretty much the worst."

"I'll let you know."

"You'd better. You're the only challenge for miles."

Sunlight flashed off one of Lori's necklaces. It was a silver cross with a ring encircling the intersection of the two lines.

It made Clark think back to the night before, and the man who'd attacked him. He ran a hand through his hair.

"Hey, Alice. Do you know anything about the mythology of vampires?"

The smirk dimmed and Lori gave him a thoughtful look. Then she said, "what I like about you, Kent, is that when you ask me something like that I can tell you're not making fun of me. Not like most of the other jackasses. I know a little bit about vampires."

Her hand reached down and she held out the cross. "Know what this is?"

"A crucifix?"

She shook her head. "It's not a crucifix, but it is a cross. The symbol of the cross predates Christianity. This is a celtic cross. To be honest, no one is totally sure of what it means, but the working theory is that it represents the sun. Some people think that's the origin of the myth that crosses hurt vampires. Magic is all about symbolism after all. Mind over matter…"

"And the mind thinks in symbols."

"Exactly," she was getting more enthusiastic now. "You may think your thoughts are in words, but what are words? They're just sounds. But we take a certain sound or collection of sounds and we say 'this now means this'. Language is all about symbols-"

"-hey, Zechlin!"

Clark and Lori both turned to see Lori's friend Joan Meyers calling out and waving from the other end of the school grounds. Lori waved back, then she turned to Clark.

"Sorry, gotta jet."

"Thanks anyway."

As Lori turned to leave, Clark spoke again.

"Do you believe in it?"

Lori turned to him, her face very serious now. "In magic? Yes. Absolutely."

Clark gave her an even look. Then he nodded.

She turned to walk away again, then turned back again. "Do you?"

Clark scratched the corner of his eyebrow with a thumb. He glanced up and saw some dark clouds rolling in from the horizon as white ones drifted quickly directly overhead. Running from the storm.

Did he believe?

"I'm not sure."

Lori shrugged and finally walked off.

Pete thudded down the bleachers and jumped down next to Clark. "What was all that about with the vampires?"

Clark shrugged. "Just something I was thinking about last night."

"Hm. Whatever, weirdo. That's not important. What is important is…" he gave Clark an expectant look.

Clark pretended to play dumb until Pete socked him in the arm.

"Alright already. Yes, there were definite signs of attraction."

"Aww yeah!" Pete began pumping his fist.

"But," Clark said, "as I've told you multiple times, it might not mean anything. Physical attraction is a totally autonomous reaction. Lots of people are attracted to lots of people. Doesn't mean they'd ever date them. Besides, physical reactions can be misleading and have multiple causes. I'm not a mind reader."

Pete waved his warnings off. "Whatever, Clark. Anything that tilts the odds in my favor even a smidge is worth it. I bet she's a freak. She's a goth, and she's Wiccan. I bet she's two freaks."

Clark shook his head. "A, stereotyping. B, I wouldn't know anything about that."

"That's your own fault." Pete smirked again and started rapidly jabbing Clark's arm. "You could find out in a heartbeat if you'd stop mooning over Lana all day every day. You drop a bit of that Kent charm and I guarantee that half the girls here will drop their-"

A voice from behind them cut through. Clark could smell rich coffee.

"-I thought I heard the howling of a starving hound...but no, it's just you, Pete."

Clark grinned and turned around. "Hey, Chloe."

A head and change shorter than Clark, Chloe Sullivan was bright, blonde, and probably drank what should be a lethal amount of coffee every day.

Chloe gave Clark one of her brilliant smiles. "Hey Clark."

Then she turned. "Pete, you're a pig. This is not news, so I can't run the story in the next edition of the Torch."

Pete's mouth gaped. "Whoa, whoa, hold on. I am a man fully in touch with his own natural instincts. Chloe, let me tell you something right now, and I want you to remember this for the rest of your life. Even the classiest man you'll ever meet is still just a man, and that man is just an animal. That applies to the women too, by the way."

Chloe rolled her eyes. She turned again. "What about you, Clark? Despite your deep, burning passion for Lana, does some baser part of you dream of a vast harem of beautiful women who service your every...need?"

Clark smirked. "No comment."

Chloe shook her head and took a sip from the paper cup in her hands emblazoned with the logo of the Talon.

The bell rang and the three moved into the school. Eventually Pete had to peel off to head to his own class, leaving Clark and Chloe together a little longer.

"Chloe," Clark said. "I'm not sure yet but...I might need your help with something later."

Chloe looked up, questions in her eyes. "Yeah? What about?"

"Just a bit of research. I'm not even sure I'll need it. Will you be editing the torch today?"

Chloe sighed. "Yep. All by my lonesome. I need an assistant. I'm getting sick of staying till sunset doing that whole paper myself."

Clark smiled. "And yet, there's nothing you'd rather be doing."

Chloe bumped his arm with her shoulder. "And yet."

She went her own way and Clark walked to his class alone. Without his friends to distract him, worry creeped back to the front of Clark's mind. How had that man escaped? Where had he gone? Who was he? Could he be out there seeking revenge? What if he attacked someone?

Clark tried to shake his fears off. After school he would go and investigate. Maybe then the questions that haunted him could be put to rest with answers.


"Clark." Deputy Waeland greeted him as Clark walked down the corridor of Smallville General.

Clark stopped outside a room. Deputy Waeland was standing in front of the closed door. The blinds were drawn.

"Sorry, Deputy. I had class."

The Deputy just nodded. He looked tired.

"You needed me to give a statement?"

The Deputy stared him down. "No, Clark.I don't need you to give a statement."

An uneasy feeling squirmed in Clark's stomach. He focused on the Deputy. The world behind him fell away. Clark couldn't find any signs of hostility. At least he thought not. He found fear though. "Deputy, what's wrong?"

The Deputy took a long deep breath. "I need you to go in."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "In? Into the room?"

"Yes into the room, Kent, god dammit!"

Clark stepped back.

The Deputy grit his teeth and dropped his gaze. "No one else has been in."

Clark was still tensed, ready to spring to action if he needed to. Though what that action might be he tried not to consider. "Isn't that against protocol? Letting a civilian in first?"

The Deputy sighed. "Yeah, well...I won't tell if you won't. Just...please."

The last word was a whisper almost too soft for human hearing.

Clark nodded.

The deputy stepped aside.

Clark stepped up, put his hand on the door.

The Deputy spoke again. "I brought him in last night. The nurses on call were...they checked him out."

The man's voice was cracking under some great strain. "The man was dead, Clark. No heartbeat...cold...but he was still movin', still groanin'. Most of the nurses bolted. They wouldn't go near him. One helped me out. We cuffed him to the bed in there-"

"-you cuffed him?" Clark asked.

The Deputy shrugged. "You said he might be dangerous. The plan was to call for a specialist to fly in from Metropolis in the morning… 'cept come morning, we found…"

The Deputy's expression closed and Clark knew that was all he'd get for now. Clark braced himself for anything and pushed the door open.

The blinds in this room were open, letting the sunlight trickle in and feed the sunflowers on the wallpaper.

Clark looked over to the bed. A pair of handcuffs dangled from the metal rails around the frame. The sheets were rumpled and mussed by someone's tossing and turning.

And, of course, there were the ashes. A pile of ashes lay atop the sheets.

Clark swallowed. He turned to face the window. With the position of the building, this room directly faced the rising sun. As soon as daylight broke, the rays of the sun would have flooded in, washed over the room and bathed the man on the bed,

Clark thought back to the Deputy's words. They'd left the man here overnight, found a pile of ashes in the morning. Clark fell into a plush visitor's chair near the bed and stared at it.

The room was full of warming light, but Clark felt cold.

Eventually he reached over, took a pinch of the ashes and dropped them into his open palm. What Clark had done the night before to expand his hearing he did now for his vision. He filled himself totally with the sight before him, concentrated on it with all his power

The little pile of ashes seemed to grow closer and closer, larger and larger, magnifying again and again until he reached his limit and found himself staring at a dozen cells, dead and burned. But they were animal cells to be sure. Probably even human, though Clark wasn't yet confident enough in his ability to tell one kind of animal cell from another, seen under the power of his "microscopic vision".

His sight retracted, returning to normal. Clark blinked, feeling dizziness and the beginnings of a migraine. He knew these would pass soon.

Clark wiped the ashes back onto the bed and spent another minute in recovery before he stood up and walked out of the room. He turned to the Deputy with a ready lie.

The Deputy just shook his head. "Don't say anything. I don't want to know. That man...that thing, he combusted didn't he?"

Clark said nothing.

The Deputy shuddered. "No heartbeat, cold body, burned to ashes in the sunlight…"

Clark said nothing.

The Deputy looked up. There was terror in his eyes and a quaver in his voice. "Clark...I know I don't have the right to ask you this, not me, not of a kid. But…"

The Deputy looked down at the speckled linoleum. "I always wanted to be a police, Clark. That's the truth. I love this town, and I wanted to protect it, keep its people safe."

The Deputy looked up at him again. "But this...this is- how can a man be ready? How can a man be trained for this! I'm not- I don't...things have been happening in this town since the meteor shower. Strange things, inexplicable...I don't know how or why, and I know you and Jonathan are keeping things secret, Clark. I respect that, but...I know, somehow, all these strange things that happen, you make them better."

Clark felt alarm shoot through him. He held his breath.

"What I'm asking is...lord knows by speaking these words I shouldn't even have a badge anymore, but...this thing, can it be one of yours, Clark?"

The man was begging now, pleading. "You've got this one, right Clark? I won't- I won't need to…this is on you, right?"

The man choked on his own words.

Clark stared at him. He remembered John Waeland, remembered all those years ago when the local fair's annual corn maze had caught fire, leaving a girl stranded inside. John Waeland had rushed into the blaze to pull her out.

When Jackson Spencer had held his family hostage in a room of the Moonlight Motel, John Waeland had gone in, alone and unarmed, and talked the man down.

Clark looked at this man who had always reminded him of an old oak tree. Now he trembled like the last leaf on a barren branch, shaking in the winter gale.

"Yeah," Clark said. "This one's on me."

Clark turned and strode out. A monster had come to Smallville. It had crawled out of the dark nightmare place where monsters were supposed to remain and it had come here. This was no longer a fight for humans.

Clark stepped out of the hospital. He needed to find out more. Who this man...this vampire was. Where he had come from, why he had come here, and most importantly...would there be more on the way?


Clark made his way back to the school. He caught sight of the Smallville Crows in the middle of their afternoon practice. Season would be starting soon.

Clark felt a pang of longing. His father had worn the jacket, been the star quarterback in his youth. He'd passed his love of the game to Clark. But that was closed to him forever.

Clark found Chloe in the school's computer lab. The half dozen outdated computers were pretty much all the school had.

Chloe looked up from one when he came in. She smiled and Clark got the feeling that she had been waiting for him.

He felt a stab of guilt. "Hey, Chloe. I know you're busy editing, but-"

"-hey, for you I've always got time. So what was it you were needing my help with?"

Clark moved over and took the chair next to her. He'd been thinking of how much to tell her and how. Telling Chloe even a little could be dangerous. The girl had skills. But that was also what Clark needed from her.

"I was attacked last night."

Chloe's smile vanished. "Whoah, what do you mean?"

"I was at the Talon last night. Some guy was giving Lana the creeps. So I stayed with her 'til she drove home-"

"-she didn't offer you a ride?"

Clark smiled wryly. "She...may have been upset about something I said."

"That's no excuse." Chloe huffed. "I don't call her 'the Princess' anymore, but damn if I don't sometimes appreciate how well that name can occasionally fit."

"Anyway, after she goes, this same creepy guy jumps me."

Chloe's eyes widened. "What? Was he trying to mug you or something?"

Clark shrugged. "Maybe. I fought him off and he split."

"Have you told the cops?"

"Of course. Deputy Waeland's on it."

"Ah. Good old, Dep. Waeland. That guy's tougher than old boot leather."

"True. But even he said there wasn't much to go on."

"If it was just a smash and grab, guy's probably gone to ground. I doubt they'll find him, but I don't think he'll bother you again either."

"Yeah, I know." Clark leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs out. "Still, I was wondering if you could help me out? You know, just for my peace of mind?"

Chloe smirked. "Sure, I guess I can do that. I didn't really feel much like editing today anyway."

Clark grinned. "Thanks. Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of respect for the men and women of the county sheriff's department. It's just...none of them are Chloe SUllivan."

Chloe sat a little straighter in her chair as she turned to face her screen.

Clark glanced at a motivational poster on the wall so he wouldn't have to see the way her cheeks turned pink. Hang in there kitten. Almost friday.

Guilt gripped him again.

Chloe always did right by him. He should do something for her this time around, something nice. Unfortunately, what she really wanted from him he couldn't give. He had tried once, and failed.

"Well," she said, "first thing's first. What do we know about this guy? Did you talk to Lana, see if he used a card at the Talon?"

Clark shook his head. "I was there. He paid cash."

Clark reached into his jacket pocket. And pulled out a folded square of paper and handed it to Chloe. "That's what he looked like. Blonde hair, blue eyes, australian accent."

Chloe unfolded the paper and stared at it. She whistled. "Clark, you continue to amaze."

Superhuman dexterity and near photographic recall made things like sketching detailed portraits something of a party trick.

"Well," Chloe said, "someone in Smallville with an Australian accent will not go unnoticed. Know what that means?"

"Cold calls?"

"Cold calls."

Clark winced in sympathy. "Sorry."

She waved him off. "I spend my own time."

"What are you thinking, motels?"

Chloe nodded with a smirk. "You've been paying attention."

"Are you sure the motels are just going to tell you about their customers?"

"Clark, Clark, Clark. Don't underestimate how much value these bored gentlemen place on a few minutes of enthusiastic flattery and conversation with a young, peppy school girl like myself." She grinned again.

Clark shook his head. "You're clearly a badass. I would not have the courage."

"I'm a reporter, Clark. If you're gonna chase dirt, be prepared to get dirty."

"Want me to help you?"

"Aww." Chloe patted his shoulder. "No offense, Clark. You've never been the greatest at...shall we call it social finessing?"

Clark rolled his eyes. "Fine. Well, least I can do is keep you company. This might take a while."

"That-" Chloe got up and made her way to fetch the cordless. She'd already pulled up a list of motels in the area. "-would be swell."

Clark booted up a computer for his own use as Chloe started down the list. He stared at the blinking prompt in the search bar.

This is dumb, he told himself.

He stared a little more. Then he typed "vampire" into the search bar and ran it.

Christ. Hundreds of thousands of hits. He browsed a few pages, but didn't find anything beyond what he anticipated. He refined the search a little more. "Vampires", "bumpy face", "vampire transformation".

Nothing major.

He ran another search. "Conditions that can cause a heart to stop", "body still moving after heart stopped".

Nothing.

"Dental mutations", nothing. Clark rubbed his eyes and shook his head.

"Spontaneous combustion", lots of hits. Nothing like what he was looking for.

Then he looked up and typed, "is sitting around trying to prove or disprove the existence of vampires with an internet search engine proof that I'm insane?"

That didn't turn up anything useful either.

Unbeknownst to him, a vigilant program hidden in lines of code stirred from its slumber as he ran his searches. It turned its attention to him and watched, and waited. It counted up points of interest. Not enough to write home about, not yet. But it kept its eyes on the town of Smallville, and one computer in Smallville High in particular.

It was early evening before Chloe got a hit. She raised a triumphant hand gripping a piece of paper. "Who's your momma?"

Clark pretended to think about it. "Martha Kent."

"Not anymore." She handed him the paper. "The Wayside Motel at this address had a guy fitting our description check in a few days ago. How do you like your sundaes Clark?"

Clark smirked. "Why, with a cherry on top of course."

"Here's your cherry. Guy didn't come back last night."

Clark nodded. "Sounds like the place."

Chloe's face grew concerned. "Hey, Clark...what exactly are you going to do with this information?"

"I'm going to tell Waeland of course. What, did you think I was going to go down there myself? Chloe, that's crazy dangerous."

Chloe relaxed and snorted. "Yeah, I guess it is."

Clark closed out of his rather fruitless search and stood up. "Thanks Chloe, I'll make it up to you for sure."

"Duh."

Clark grinned and left, trying not to think too hard on the disappointment that flashed across Chloe's face as he went.


Before heading to the hotel, he stopped in on his parents at home. He told them everything. His mother's eyes grew wide with shock, but his father grew strangely still, his expression distant.

When he finished, his mother spoke up. "Clark, are you sure this man wasn't some kind of meteor infected?"

Clark shook his head. "This was something different, something else. I don't think this was a meteor mutant...I think this was a real vampire."

"Clark...you can't be serious. Vampires? What makes you so certain this man didn't just get a mutation that made him seem like a vampire?"

"The meteor rocks almost never give multiple abilities. Even when they do they're at least tangentially related. This guy's body was moving without a heartbeat. His face transformed, he grew fangs, he could see in the dark, his body was cold, he combusted in sunlight…"

Clark's mother turned whiter and whiter. She drew her sweater tighter around herself.

Clark looked down at the table. "And...when he turned to dust, so did his clothes. But nothing happened to the bed sheets under him. That goes way beyond the meteor rocks. That's something…"

Magical.

But he didn't say it. The thought was, ironically, alien. Even to his bizarre world. He looked to his father. The man was gripping the armrest of the sofa with bloodless knuckles.

"Dad?"

His father swallowed and looked up. Clark and his mother were both staring.

"Clark," his father began. He seemed to be looking at someplace far away. "When I was...I think about your age, me and some friends drove up to Metropolis. We were just being dumb kids, heading to the big city for some fun, maybe a little trouble. There was a bar up there called McNulty's that didn't card. It was me, Earl Jenkins, ol' Marsh Waeland, and Doc."

Clark raised an eyebrow. "Doctor Simon?"

His father cracked a tiny smirk. "We called him 'Doc' even back then."

The smirk faded. "We'd all been drinking, and it was getting late. We'd rented a motel for the night and we started to head back. I don't remember how, but I got separated from the others. I turned into some alley...I bumped into some guy. Raggedy guy, I figured he was homeless or something.

"I said, 'sorry sir.' And I went on my way. Pretty soon I hear footsteps behind me. I turn, and there he is, same guy. We're behind some building. The exit has this dim red light over it so I can sorta see him, but my vision is still hazy from the beers. I get to thinking that maybe this guy's looking to stick me up. I stand a little straighter. I tell him I don't want no trouble, but if he does I'll oblige him.

"I was mostly bluffing. I could barely stand up straight, let alone fight proper. The guy calls my bluff. He lunges at me. I take a couple swings, but it doesn't even phase this guy. I've dropped guys twice his size with blows like I was throwing. Then the guy grabs me by the throat. Now I'm thinking he must be on something powerful, some cocaine or something because this guy picks me up off my feet with one arm and slams me to the wall.

"I hit my head and I'm fading in and out when…"

Clark's father leaned forward. He closed his eyes, took a long breath and shuddered.

"I see the man's face...it changed. Right before my very eyes I saw it change. It turned just like you said, Clark. His eyes were yellow, his eyebrows and forehead were all bumpy...and his teeth...I thought that was it. I thought I was gonna die there. That man was gonna kill me in the alley.

"I'm hanging there, and I see this woman come up behind him. I can't much remember...she looked kinda european. Eastern european I thought at the time. She comes up behind him and the man drops me, turns to face her. Now I'm here, sitting in an alley, dazed out of my brain, watching these two people fight. I've never seen people fight like that before...they were so fast. Faster than a person could be. I could barely make out the silhouette of someone else standing further down the alley.

"Eventually the woman, she's got a wooden stake in her hand. She stabs the man. Plunges that stake into his chest. I swear the man exploded into dust right in front of me, raggedy coat and all. I'm fading out, so tired. I swear I hear the man at the end of the alley. I remember I paid attention, because his voice, it was British or some such, something I'd never heard outside the tv. I remember hearing him say, 'good work, Slayer. Let's move to sector two'. Then I passed out. My friends found me eventually and woke me up. I'm lucky nothing else happened to me while I was out."

Clark and his mother stared.

His mother spoke. "You never told me that story."

His father shrugged. "I thought I'd hallucinated the whole thing. I was pretty far gone that night, and...obviously...monsters don't exist."

Or so you thought. So we all thought. Clark leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Maybe you guys should stay inside again tonight. Just in case."

His father looked up. "And you?"

"I've got to check out this motel. I need to find out what I can about this guy, if he's the only one in town…"

The oven dinged. His mother got up. She touched Clark's arm as she passed him by. "You've got time, at least, for dinner first. Right?"

Clark smiled. The thought of the delicious warm roast they could all smell brightened the dark mood in the room considerably.

"Sure mom, I can stay for dinner. I'm gonna head up to my room for a bit, call me when it's ready."

His mother nodded and Clark headed upstairs. He squeezed his father's shoulder as he passed. His father looked at him and smiled a little, but he still looked haunted. Clark went up to his room. He closed the door behind him and dropped into his desk chair.

He swiveled it so he could prop his feet up onto his bed and turned to stare out of his window. The sky had grown red and the sun was sinking real low. Night would be on him soon.

A fear gripped his heart. The night would be on him soon...what he'd said to his mother before was right. This was something different, something new. Everything had changed. The sun that had set yesterday had set on a different world than the one it was setting on now.

This was a world of dark things that Clark could only guess at. Clark could almost feel the shadows lengthening around him. Before they were nothing, now they were insidious.

We grow up being afraid of things in the dark, Clark thought. But eventually, we stop. We tell ourselves there's nothing there. It's just our imagination. There's no such things as monsters.

And now, Clark had learned that they were wrong. He couldn't even explain this terror which gripped him. But it was old, and it was strong. Clark had taken a peek into the veil of shadows, gotten a glimpse of the malevolent shapes that moved there, the things people closed their eyes and covered their ears to. The things they pretended didn't exist.

Hear no evil, see no evil.

Everyone but Clark had that luxury. For better or worse, the dark things were part of his world now. Forever.


"Pinged! We've been pinged!" Willow burst into the hotel room.

Buffy sat up on her bed and stared at her friend. "What's happening now?"

Willow continued gesturing emphatically and speaking at a frequency only discernible to dogs. She seemed very pleased about something.

Buffy held a hand up. "Wills, hold on. Slow down to human speed. What's going on? We got ponged?"

"Pinged."

"Right...so what is pinged?"

Willow took a deep breath. She looked around at Dawn on the other bed who raised an eyebrow at her.

"Okay," Willow said, "so you know how we've been using magic these past few months to find the newly activated Slayers?"

"Uh-huh," Buffy said.

"And you know how it hasn't exactly been super effective all the time."

"Uh-huh."

Willow grinned. "Well, I may or may not have, hypothetically, received an offer a few weeks ago to do some consulting work for a certain prominent online search engine, I won't name any names."

"Okay…"

"So anyway, maybe while I was helping this unnamed company improve the performance and security of their search engine, I may or may not have slipped a special program into the code without anyone noticing."

Buffy stared at her blankly.

Willow huffed. "So a while back I was talking to myself. I said, 'self, there has to be more you can do to reach these potential Slayers.' Then I got the offer from secret mystery company and I had an idea. So I created a special program with maybe just a teeny bit of magic that basically watches what people are searching on the search engine. I've programmed it to start paying attention to certain keywords. Words like 'vampire', 'super-strength', 'slayer', etc etc. I figure the newly activated Slayers are having all these freaky things happen to them, things that are hard to talk about. Maybe they go online for answers, and maybe we find them that way."

Buffy knitted her brow. "I don't know, Will. It's not like vampire is an uncommon term-"

"-oh, oh, I know! But I did this thing where I made it so the program looks for groups of related searches and uses an algorithm to determine the likelihood of a potential Slayer. If it reaches a certain threshold it 'pings' me."

"So when you're saying 'we've been pinged'..."

Willow grinned. "Mama's found us a newly activated Slayer...probably."

"Where?"

"Someplace in Kansas called Smallville."


The Vampire known as Adept Randolph made his way through the twisted darkness of the Catacombs. He hated it down here. The passageways grew narrower and narrower, closing slowly so he had to first stoop, then crawl, hands and knees sliding on the slimy film that covered the black stones.

After a personal eternity, Randolph stopped. The catacombs here opened up into the vast space of the Mausoleum of the Brotherhood of the Ancient. There was space aplenty now, but Randolph darned not rise from his hands and knees.

In fact he went down lower, prostrating himself, touching his forehead to the floor loud enough for the sound to echo again and again in the chamber.

"Master," Randolph said. No response. He dared not look up to try and see if the robed and hooded figure that knelt contemplating the statute of the Ancient One had heard him.

The silence stretched on until Randolph couldn't take it anymore.

"Master Koschei."

He heard the rustle of fabric, and felt a sudden tremendous force slam him into the ground. It continued pushing him down, flattening him on the stone. Randolph was overjoyed that the Master had seen fit to gaze upon him. He received the bone crushing attention in enraptured silence.

Suddenly the force let up. The Master must have looked away. Randolph struggled to push himself back to his kneeling position. He had his cue to continue.

"Master. We have had word from Adept Fletcher. He...sir, he thinks he's found it."

The weight of his master's appraisal was on him again. So potent it whipped his face onto the stone floor hard enough to break his nose. Randolph fought the urge to lick up the blood that leaked out.

"He says he's found it at last. He says his calculations bore fruit. He's found it in a Kansas town called Smallville."

Randolph heard another rustling of the robe. His eyes grew wide and his mouth gaped. He couldn't believe it. If his heart still beat, it would be racing with joy. For the first time in centuries, his master had stood up.

The force pinning him down disappeared as his master looked away. Randolph skittered out of the Mausoleum, making sure to keep his head to the floor. It took everything in him not to start whooping with excitement.

He had passage to arrange, to the town of Smallville.