Buffy was pinned against a mausoleum wall.

Not that this was a bad thing, she admitted to herself, feeling Riley's weight press her into the stonework. His lips were hot on hers as she raked at his shoulders, her legs curling around his to pull him in closer. There were definite advantages to patrolling with her boyfriend.

"You know kids, there are smarter places to make out than the cemetary."

They sprang apart, surprised by the unfamiliar voice. Buffy glared at the newcomer; a slightly built young man who was well-dressed but a little scruffy. He smirked,

"I don't normally go in for graveyards, myself. More a luxury penthouse kind of guy. It's just that I'm new in town, so I was looking for somewhere quiet to hole up. But maybe I'll stop for a meal."

The Slayer frowned, inching her hand toward a stake she kept tucked inside her jacket. The guy didn't feel like any vampire she had met before, but he certainly talked like one.

"Nice lookin' girl, my friend." He continued, nodding to Riley, "Mind if I have a taste?"

"Not on my watch." The ex-commando snapped, suddenly thrusting out a cross.

"What the - ?" the possible vampire looked amused, "What sort of freak carries a cross around with him?" he suddenly leapt forward, smashing his forearm into Riley's face and knocking the ex-commando to the ground. "The sort with a glass jaw, it seems." He picked up the fallen cross and threw it away. "For the record, crosses don't work."

"What are you?" Buffy demanded, her hand still on the hidden stake. She needed to distract him from Riley, find out what she was facing.

"I'm Deacon Frost." He gave her a slight bow, then kicked Riley sharply as the ex-commando began to stir. "And your friend here seemed to know what I am, even if he has been watching too many Hammer horror films."

"You're not a vampire."

"Really?" he grinned, showing elongated fangs, "will you still be telling me that when I'm drinking your blood?"

Buffy suppressed a curse. This guy was something new; like a vampire but not one. No ridges on his face, no reaction to crosses. With Riley barely conscious, this was not the time to test whether he was also immune to stakes. She released the weapon and did her best to look nervous as Frost moved toward her.

"D-don't come any closer." She quavered, congratulating herself on the performance she was giving. Frost kept coming, a smile on his face.

"Who's going to stop me?"

She hit him as hard as she could.

Frost flew backward, landing heavily on the ground. Not waiting for him to recover, Buffy hauled the still-dazed Riley to his feet.

"Come on, we've got to get out of here!" she yelled, happy to get a slightly glazed nod in reply.

They ran, the Slayer half-dragging her boyfriend, her mind in turmoil over this new danger; a vampire who was not a vampire. She would have to see Giles in the morning.


Frost sat up slowly, and gingerly touched his bruised face.

"Slayer packs quite a punch, don't she, mate?" A figure stepped out from behind a mausoleum, lighting a cigarette as it did so.

"Slayer?" Frost asked, then winced at the pain in his jaw.

The newcomer stared at him in surprise, then gestured after the running girl.

"The Slayer, mate. Bane of the unholy hordes? The Chosen One, who -" he paused to adopt an outrageously pompous accent, "stands alone against the vampires and the forces of darkness." Seeing Frost's uncomprehending look, he shook his head. "Jesus, you never heard of the Slayer?"

"I'm from . . . out of town." Frost hauled himself to his feet.

"Must be from the bloody moon if you've never heard of the Slayer." The other man grunted, "You got lucky, mate. She was more worried about protecting her precious Captain Cardboard than in findin' a way to kill you. That won't last. Come tomorrow, she'll be badgerin' that precious Watcher of hers to find out what you are and how to kill you."

Frost frowned. He had no idea what this . . . creature . . . was talking about, but he could tell that it wasn't human, and that it knew a lot more about this place than he did.

"I'm very new in town." He glanced in the direction the girl had run, "And I could use a guide to local conditions. You interested?"

"Depends on what's in it for me, mate." The other blew a long stream of smoke, "Information like that doesn't come cheap."

Frost shrugged and drew out his billfold.

"There's five hundred in here. In exchange, you tell me everything you know about this town and the Slayer. Deal?"

"Deal." His new-found informant stuck out a hand, "Call me Spike."


Buffy hurried across the campus grounds, suppressing the desire to yawn as she did so. She was going to be late for Psych, but she had bigger things on her mind. She had meant to call Giles and ask him about the . . . whatever it was . . . she had encountered the night before, but she had overslept, so it would have to wait until after class.

"Slayer."

She stopped in mid-stride, and turned to face the person who had addressed her.

Deacon Frost sat calmly on a bench next to the path, a slight smile on his face.

"Nice day, isn't it?" he asked, as casually as if they were old friends.

"I don't know if you've heard," Buffy replied coldly, "but sunlight kills vampires."

"I bought some very good sunblock."

Buffy snorted,

"You gotta be kidding me."

"Afraid not, gorgeous." Frost leaned back on the bench, "You see, I am a vampire, but nothing like any you've ever seen before." He stood suddenly, and Buffy took an involuntary step backward. Frost smirked, "I've got an interest in your little Hellmouth. It sounds intriguing. I suggest you stay out of my way."

Still smirking, he turned and walked away, leaving a confused and slightly frightened Slayer behind him.

Slowly, Buffy's mouth firmed into a hard line, and she took off at a run for The Magic Box. Willow could sign her into Psych.


"I'm sorry, Buffy, but I fail to see why this . . . person . . . has you so concerned." Giles polished his glasses slowly. "Everything you've said about him so far could simply mean he's a human with some decent combat training and a set of prosthetic teeth."

"This wasn't just some guy with a vampire fetish, Giles." Buffy shook her head, "I could feel something strange about him, I just couldn't recognise it."

"Then at worst he is simply some new kind of demon, or perhaps a warlock of some kind." Giles persevered in his attempt to allay her fears. "Both of which you've defeated before."

"I don't know, Giles." Buffy felt, and looked, unconvinced. "There was something about him. Almost like a smell." She paused, "Speaking of which, did you sleep in those clothes?"

Giles grimaced slightly,

"Preparing the shop has proven more of an undertaking than I had expected. By the time I was finished here last night it was so late that I simply slept in the office."

"Geez, Giles, overdoing it much?" Buffy scolded teasingly, "All night research sessions are one thing; the fate of the world is at stake. This is just a store."

"Yes, well . . ." the Englishman was spared the need for further defensive stammering by the soft jingle of the bell on the shop's door. "I'm sorry, we're closed for renovations -" Giles broke off suddenly, and Buffy turned to see what had surprised him so much.

For a moment she thought of Forrest, but the man standing inside the doorway was taller and broader than the dead commando had been, and dressed in black leather rather than army greens.

Buffy raised her eyebrows,

"Who are you supposed to be, John Shaft?"

"You heard of Shaft?" he sounded surprised.

"I never miss a Samuel L. Jackson movie."

He shook his head,

"Richard Roundtree was the man."

Buffy frowned. There was something about this guy . . . something that reminded her of Deacon Frost. She stepped smoothly in front of Giles, glancing around for a weapon of some sort.

"You Giles?" the big man directed his question at the ex-Watcher as he dropped his bag on the floor beside him.

"I'm Rupert Giles, yes." The Englishman had noticed his Slayer's sudden tension and was slowly backing toward the shop's counter, where he had already taken the precaution of hiding a battle-axe.

"Name's Blade. Angel said you'd be expecting me."

Buffy and Giles exchanged a surprised look.

"Angel?" the Slayer asked, finally, with some difficulty.

"Sure. He was going to call." The black man frowned, "I guess he didn't."

"He may have, actually." Giles conceded, still inching toward the axe, "I didn't go home last night."

The door of the shop burst open and Anya swept in, followed by Xander, his arms piled high with stock.

"Hey Giles! I'm late, I know, but Xander and I -" she broke off, giving Blade a surprised look, "Okay. What's with the alternate reality guy?"


Blade leaned back into his chair and mentally shook his head. The ease with which these people accepted the seemingly impossible amazed him. If he'd been told by a complete stranger that they were from another reality, he would have assumed they were an escapee from a mental institution. Not these folk. They discussed it like it was an everyday occurrence.

"So this Frost is the 'Big Bad' back where you come from?" the blonde; Buffy, whatever sort of name that was; asked from where she was perched on the shop's counter.

"Yeah." Blade grunted, trying not to react to the childish nickname she'd given Frost.

"So I just need you to fill me in on how to kill him and our problem will be solved." The blonde smiled like she'd worked out a complicated riddle.

"We can't just do that, Buffy." The old guy at least seemed to have some sense, "that would still leave Mister, uh, Blade, stuck here. And who knows what effect it would have on his reality."

"Giles is right." The other girl nodded from where she was playing with the cash register, "Messing with reality is a tricky business." She caught the looks she was getting and shrugged, "Hey. I was a vengeance demon for a thousand years, I know stuff like this."

Blade decided it was better not to ask what she was talking about. Instead, he checked his watch. He would need to feed again in an hour or two. Although he was deprived of his serum in this reality, Angel had given him a supply of blood-bags. It was an elegant solution, he had to admit. He wondered why it had never occurred to Whistler or him.

"To send him back," the girl continued, "we need to know what brought him here."

"How are you going to learn that?" Blade spread his hands, "one minute I was at the Blood God's temple, looking for Frost; the next, I was in your version of LA. It was like magic."

"Magic?" the boy who'd come in with the girl leapt to his feet and hurried to the phone, dialing a number from memory. He was silent for a few moments, then spoke. "Willow? It's me. Have you and Tara been playing with the space-time continuum again?"