Cleveland, Ohio

Mornings came late in the new headquarters—new, because even after years it still didn't seem like home; late, because she and Buffy were finally independent enough to set their own schedules. Some of the other Slayers, the ones who had afternoon classes or jobs, ran the store in the mornings, not that there was ever enough business before ten to get Willow out of bed anyway.

Willow checked the back bedroom on her way to the stairs. Buffy stood near the window, staring down at the street, twisting her locket—the locket that had replaced Angel's cross, the locket that held tiny locks of hair from the twins, the only memento Buffy had kept of them. The pictures had been burned, their clothes and toys put into charity bins all over London. But she was okay otherwise—no bleeding wounds, no new bandages or bruises, and her hair was wet, meaning that she'd taken the time to shower, which meant that the night's patrol had brought up nothing important. She'd give Willow a report this evening, before the babies came in from school for training.

The old building, cranky as it was, had been the discovery that had given Cleveland the advantage over a handful of other cities with high levels of demonic and vampiric activity. The Council had paid for restoration and renovations: the third floor became single large apartment—six bedrooms, each with a private bath, an actual dining room, a living room, a separate den, and enough closet space to make any woman swoon—the empty second floor provided space for a library, meeting, training, and weapons storage, and the two shops on the first floor gave them adequate camouflage and income.

Though somehow I think a fortune-telling parlor and a magic shop were not what the Council had in mind when they recommended "dignified" day jobs for Watchers.

Buffy at least didn't have to work, the way she had those last couple of years in Sunnydale. She could keep focused on her true work, and for Willow, keeping the mundane books was a great de-pressurizer after the intricacies of the average week's research.

She unlocked her office on the first floor—the "shop office," where all the books on both stores were kept, and where she did normal things like interview potential employees and pay bills—and switched on the computer.

The chat program popped up immediately. Morning, Will.

Willow grinned at the computer screen, glanced at the clock, and typed a quick response. Just barely. How's Ellie?

Same old same old, was Xander's reply. He had bullied Eleanor and the Kaldeish into buying a computer for his private use, both to keep in contact with his friends, and to help Eleanor adapt to the modern world. Busier than we used to be, I think word's gotten out. You sending business our way?

You know better. Eleanor was the Healer, the Slayer's opposite; her calling was fixing vampires and other human-based demonic entities. Knowledge of her had only made Buffy more determined to make sure the things she killed stayed dead.

LOL. Tell me my fortune.

That'll be $50, she typed, grinning.

I'm good for it, came the prompt response. Fame? Fortune? Angel and Spike on my doorstep?

She sighed. Still no word.

Think they're dead?

She hesitated. There were things she was reluctant to commit to. Just because it had been years with no word…. They won't show up on your doorstep, she temporized. Neither one knows about Ellie, remember? Many vampires had completely forgotten about the Healer. What lesson are we up to?

Xander was still trying to re-introduce Eleanor to the world, after her centuries of seclusion; her youngest bodyguard was over two hundred. Explaining to Ellie why I refer to Monica as your girlfriend. :)

Willow laughed. How'd she take it?

Scarily well for a girl born in 1402. How's Buffy?

She sighed. Anniversary.

It was several minutes before he responded, and then it was only hugs. At least with Xander she didn't have to explain which anniversary, the way she did with the babies, or why it still tore Buffy up, the way she did with the Council—

Because a Slayer should be able to take rape, childbirth, and losing the children within a year all in stride, shouldn't she. Especially when the rape was done under the illusion of incest. That was how the old Councilors thought, anyway. Willow had a plan to fix that, however; there were plenty of not-quite-Slayers out there, women who had "aged out" before the spell that made all Potentials Slayers, who had too many responsibilities or health problems to go out and risk their lives nightly, but who could no longer sit by and leave things as they were. By the time Willow and the New Council were done with them, they would be Watchers, and the next generation of Council members. And then the stupid old bastards will get the first surprise of their stuffy little lives.

Properly, it was the second; they'd at least managed to do away with the Cruciamentum. Then again, there probably weren't enough vampires to torment every 18-year-old Slayer anymore. More than enough sadistic old Brits, though. Gah. Pity none of the old bats were in there when Caleb blew the place up.

There was enough annoyance accompanying that thought that the candles on the windowsill all flared to life. She sighed, and clamped down on the magic.

The computer beeped. Anything we can do?

Not unless you can bring them back, she thought, but didn't type that. No need in taking out the stress on Xander. No, she finally typed. She'll be all right. She always is. It just takes some time.

A knock on the door made her look up. Kellie, one of the younger Slayers who manned the store on the morning shift, poked her head in. "Will, there's some guys here for Madame Desdemona."

"We're not open yet."

"Yeah, but— There's something up with these two. I think you should see them."

Willow raised an eyebrow. "Something up?"

"Well, for starters, they're fighting over why they're here. Loudly. In the street. Young, bad boyish, and weaponed. Guns, I think."

"Guns?" Even if they knew what a Slayer was, who brought guns to see the Slayer?

"Yeah. And it looks like Viv forgot to put up the 'closed' sign."

Willow groaned. "Next time she does that, I'm docking her pay. I'll be out in a few minutes. Keep them from destroying the place."

"Gotcha."

Work calls, she typed.

Try not to tell them anything too distressing.

She laughed. I'll try.