They were met at the doors by guards—vampire guards, in black and red outfits like antique military uniforms, with odd, weeping, cross-shaped scars on their foreheads. They looked—unhappy. Which was weird, because vampires? Generally the maniacally happy type.

Three of the guards took charge of their group and led them through a maze of hallways to a massive dining room with an equally massive, floor-to-ceiling east-facing window, silvered by moonlight. "Rest," one of the guards finally growled. "Sleep. Bathe."

"In here?" Buffy asked.

"You will find rooms through that door." He pointed. "There will be food later. Others have brought your belongings."

Buffy glanced at the others. Faith was studying the window. "If this she is a vampire, she likes playing with fire," Faith finally observed. "No blinds, no shutters. Not even drapes."

"She is not a vampire," the guide snarled, and he and his buddies disappeared, in that annoying, here-one-second-gone-the-next way only vampires could.

"Buffy, what's going on?"

"I don't know," she answered, before she really thought about the answer.

"But—"

"I know, it doesn't make sense. I just know we had to come here. There's someone here we have to meet."

"Who?"

"I don't know," she said. "I just don't know. She's the one who called me." Of that much she was certain. This place had the same feel as the blue light in her dream: calming, relaxing, healing.

But why the vampires? Why would something that felt so—so good be connected with vampires?

"Why do they have scars on their heads?" Dawn asked. Everybody turned expectantly to Giles.

"What, I'm supposed to know everything?"

"Well, yeah," said Kennedy. "Isn't that how it normally works?"

"While your confidence is overwhelming," Giles said, "I do not know everything. I have no idea what this place is or who she is or why she wants Buffy here."

"Giles," Xander interrupted. "The crosses. Ideas?"

"It could be the mark of a cult. Or maybe they just like cutting themselves. I don't know." He sounded frustrated.

"There'd have to be magic involved," Willow put in. "Otherwise, it would just heal, wouldn't it?"

"Possibly."

"Wonderfully definitive there, Giles." Xander glanced across the room at Buffy. "So. Now what?"

Buffy thought just a moment. "I don't know about you," she said, "but I'm taking a bath and going to bed."


The promised rooms were down a hallway, and each had the same huge east-facing windows as the dining room. "And a private bathroom!" Dawn chirped, exploring the room Buffy had claimed.

"Definitely a plus," Buffy said, thinking of the past months, with over twenty people—twenty women—crammed into a one-bathroom house.

"There's two beds in here," Dawn added.

Buffy glanced at her. "Yes, you can stay in here if you want," she answered the unspoken question. "But only because there's two beds. I'm tired of fighting you for the covers."

Dawn hugged her tightly. "Thanks, sis."

Buffy looked at her sister warily. "What brought this on?"

"This place feels weird." Dawn pulled away from her and began investigating the closet. "And I've had a headache since we came in."

Buffy studied Dawn more closely. Was she paler than usual? How could she not feel the sheer, unyielding calm of this place? "I think Willow bought some aspirin. Ask her—"

"I already did—hey! Our clothes are here!"

That was quick. Another interesting courtesy. "She seems intent on making us relax."

"I don't think we should do that." Dawn sat down on the bed.

"Dawn, are you sure you're okay?"

"It's just a headache," she said. "You take your bath first. Maybe I'll feel better in the morning."


Morning was impossible to ignore, with all those huge east-facing windows, but Buffy's watch still claimed it was nearly noon when she finally pushed herself out of bed. Dawn was still out, though by the crinkle of pain on her forehead she was still suffering that headache in her sleep.

Buffy found breakfast in the dining room—a massive buffet of everything remotely resembling breakfast food, from waffles to Pop-Tarts. All the hot stuff was properly hot, the cold stuff downright icy, but there wasn't any sign of anyone manning the buffet. Magic, maybe.

She was sleepy again by the time she'd eaten, and she went back to bed. These past few months had been rough; they were all suffering from some degree of sleep deprivation. And it was so calm here, how could she not sleep? Sleep was healing.

The sound of Dawn rummaging around woke her that afternoon. "How's the headache?" she asked, but her sister had only to look up for Buffy to know that the pain was still there, and possibly worse.

"I took more medicine," Dawn said—quietly, as if afraid the noise would make the pain worse. "And took the hottest shower I could stand."

"Did you eat anything?"

"As much as I could."

"Caffeine?"

"An entire bottle of Mountain Dew." Dawn sounded like she was about to cry. "It won't go away, Buffy."

"Everybody gets headaches, Dawnie," Buffy soothed, going over and giving her a gentle hug.

"Is that all it is?"

Her eyes were wide with fear, and Buffy suddenly understood. Mom. "It's just a headache. It can't be anything else. Not here."

"Are you sure?"

"Hey." Buffy tilted Dawn's chin up. "Trust me. It's just a headache. You'll feel better once you've caught up on your sleep."


By sunset, they'd all slept themselves out, and the meal on the buffet had magically become a feast worthy of Thanksgiving. They'd stuffed themselves, but now none of them were drowsy, and the confinement was starting to grate on nerves—particularly Faith's and Kennedy's, who sniped at each other and anyone who got in their way until even Giles started swearing and throwing wadded-up napkins at them.

As soon as it was completely dark, the vampires showed up again. Now the leader, the guide from the night before, was dressed all in black, with a red tunic over it and a swordbelt over that. Well, this bears out the crazy vampire cult theory. "Are you prepared?" he asked, sounding about as friendly as Faith with PMS.

Buffy glanced around at the group. Faith and Kennedy both looked like they might stake the vamps given the first bad opportunity; Wood still seemed to be in pain; Dawn was sitting at the table, her head pillowed on her arms, and Willow sat beside her, looking concerned. The headache hadn't slacked off yet. "We're ready," she said.

"Follow me." Me turned into us as soon as they stepped out of the dining room; there were five other vampires, all with the same red tunics and scars on their foreheads.

Their vampire escorts stopped them before a pair of heavy wooden doors. The hinges were dark metal twisted into semblances of vampire faces, but the leading in the small, blood-red windows made simple crosses.

Lead Vampire looked over them, his lip curling in distaste. "I don't know what it has come to that she is seeing Slayers," he muttered, and grabbed a door handle. Smoke wisped up; another cross imprinted in the metal?

Crosses on the one hand, fangs on the other. What kind of cult is this?

"I've seen less fuss for audiences with the Queen," Giles muttered. Buffy heard, and smiled, albeit nervously. An old-school vampire queen of some sort, a female version of the Master, would explain the overdone formality. But not why we haven't been made dinner yet. Or why she wants to see the Slayer.

The Slayer.

Not a Slayer, but the Slayer. She had known where to find Buffy, how to reach her; she had to know about the spell, about all the new Slayers. She wanted to see me, Buffy realized. Faith and Kennedy are only here because they're with me.

The heavy doors swung open, and the vampires got out of their way.

Maybe she was a queen, because this was certainly a throne room.

It was no larger than the dining room, but empty, and windowless. Walls and floor were bare plaster and stone; the ceiling was crossed with dark wooden beams, from which hung a simple black-metal chandelier. At the far end of the room was a raised dais, and there, in an elaborate oversized chair, sat a woman.

"I don't bite," she said, and her amused voice carried the length of the room. "Come closer. I seldom get visitors who can still boast a pulse."

Buffy glanced at the others, then at the scowling guards, and shrugged. "I've come this far," she muttered, and walked towards the woman. The others followed.

The woman who sat in the fancy chair—Buffy refused to call it a throne, no matter how appropriate it might be—couldn't be much older than Dawn. She wore a long velvet dress, long-sleeved, that brought back dim memories of pictures Buffy had ignored as thoroughly as the rest of the history books. It was dark green, which Buffy privately thought did nothing for the girl's complexion; black hair and—she thought—black eyes needed something lighter.

"I was not sure you would hear my call." Her voice was low, and had a strange accent. "The spell that awakened the Slayers has had strange repercussions on magic. And I have had no business with a Slayer since—well, since this dress was fashionable." She smiled.

Buffy didn't return it. "Why did you want me here? The call was for me, not for anyone else."

"I admit, I wasn't expecting you to bring all your followers." Those dark eyes darted over the group before her. Did they linger on Dawn? "I hardly expected you to have any left after that debacle with the First," she added tartly. "Did you actually seal the Hellmouth, or did your people die in vain?"

Blind fury took over. First the call here, then a bad fight, and now being insulted for saving the world again! The stake was in her hand and gone before she even realized she'd thrown it.

The woman looked down. "Slayers and their weapons," she muttered, then reached for the stake and casually pulled it from her chest. Flesh and velvet healed flawlessly. The woman weighed the stake in her hand. There wasn't even any blood on it. "Would you kill the only person on earth who could make your vampire lovers human?"

"You can make vampires human?" Giles asked. He sounded startled—or scandalized, Buffy wasn't sure which.

"Of course." She tossed the stake aside; it clattered on the floor and was lost in the shadows.

"Have you?" If this woman could make vampires human—what that could mean for Angel!

"Never." She smiled at a spot somewhere behind them. "You know vampires as well as I, Slayer. No healthy vampire would ever want the burden of mortality. Only the damaged. Angel. Perhaps Spike, although I find him harder to read."

Buffy choked down a surge of anger. So the woman didn't know everything, then, she just liked to pretend she did, like every other bad guy in the universe. "Spike's dead."

The woman raised an eyebrow, as if she'd heard what Buffy was thinking. "Not for long. Had you gone to Angel's, you would have met him again."

"That's impossible. I saw him—"

"Other magics have come into play."

Spike was alive? Panic grabbed her. "I have to get to L.A., then—he won't know what's happened—"

"You have no place there." The woman stood. "They have their own destinies and you no longer play a role in them. Leave it be." She came down the steps, the train of her gown trailing after.

"Looks like your seamstress goofed with that hem," Buffy couldn't resist saying.

The woman gave her an amused glance. "And I would say yours underestimated your measurements, by the tightness of those pants." She stopped in front of Wood. "Your injury still aches, yes?"

He blinked. "Some," he admitted, giving Buffy a puzzled glance. "I wouldn't say no to an aspirin—"

"No need." Her fingers brushed the front of Wood's shirt. Buffy thought she saw a blue glow, but it was gone before she could be sure. "Does that help?"

"The pain's gone," he breathed, amazed. "How—"

She chuckled. "This is what I do." She moved down the line to Faith. Faith crossed her arms over her chest, daring the woman to touch her. "Mistrustful as ever, Slayer."

"I don't need fixing." She was snarling again. "And if you try—"

The woman raised an eyebrow. "You plan to stop me? Buffy has already tried, you noticed."

"Buffy occasionally fucks up."

"Hey!" Buffy protested, but Faith only flashed her a grin.

"Distrustful little girl," the woman said, but it sounded like there was as much admiration in her voice as annoyance. Then, in a move quick enough to put a Slayer to shame, she grabbed Faith's head. There was another bit of glow, and she released Faith, all before anyone else could react. "You can be yourself without obsessing on your scars."

Buffy glanced at Giles, then at Willow. Both shook their heads. Puzzlement all around, then.

The woman moved on. The look she gave Kennedy was dismissive, as if the younger Slayer wasn't worth her time. She stopped in front of Willow. "Oh, child," she said gently. "The injuries you bear."

"Huh? No, I'm fine."

"Not physically. Here." The woman touched Willow's head.

"Oh, no," Willow said quickly. "No, I'm fine. My head's fine. Really. Except for the time I went crazy and tried to send the world to hell, but—"

"Your trust is injured. Your trust in yourself." The woman shook her head. "But you are finding your way. There is only the grief to heal, and not even I can assist you there."

Willow looked confused, but nodded. "I'm better now," she said, glancing nervously at Buffy. "I have Kennedy to help me."

The woman glanced at Kennedy. "If you say so." Kennedy looked like she might protest that, but Faith grabbed her arm before she could.

Okay. I just saw Faith actually stop somebody from running her mouth. What in hell is going on?

The woman stepped in front of Dawn, and her eyes narrowed. "You," she snarled, and raised a hand.

Buffy grabbed it. "Back off, lady, or I'll stake you again."

"You know what—what this is, and you keep it with you?"

"That's my sister, and you need to shut up now."

The woman jerked away. "I thought you were brighter than this, Slayer."

"You're going to see just how bright I am if you don't quit this right now. And tell me what the hell you want with me!"

"In a moment." The woman drifted over to Xander. "There is one more injury here."

"Yeah, but mine's kinda permanent," Xander said, taking a step backwards.

"Nothing is permanent here but me," the woman said softly, and touched his eyepatch. Blue light spread from her fingers across the black cloth, a strange electric blue, and Xander screamed.

Buffy grabbed the woman's arm, jerked her away from Xander, and threw her. She slid across the tile floor, landing in a puddle of skirts near the steps to her throne. "Xander?" Buffy asked.

He was clutching at his eye now, breathing raggedly. "Dear God— Jesus, that hurts—" Buffy and Giles caught him before he fell to the floor, and lowered him gently. He fought against them, not thinking of anything but the pain.

"Xander, it's okay—" Buffy looked across the room at the woman. "What did you do? Fix it!"

"He'll be fine," the woman said, collecting her dignity and standing. Absently she brushed her skirts off. "The pain is only temporary. No, Matthias," she said sharply.

Buffy looked up in time to see the lead vamp backing off. "Xander, talk to me," she said, pushing it to the back of her mind. "Come on, it can't be that bad—"

He quit fighting. "It's easing off," he said hoarsely. "Not so bad now—" He squinted at her suddenly. "My God."

"Xander?" she asked. "So help me, if you've hurt him, I will find a way to kill you—"

"Buffy, no."

"Xander?" Willow knelt beside them. "What—" He reached up to tear off his eyepatch. "Oh God. Buffy, look."

A pale blue eye stared back at them from what should have been an empty socket. "There's something there, isn't there?" Xander asked, grabbing Buffy's arms. "I can feel it moving, like the other eye—" He squeezed his good eye shut. "I can see. It's just blurs, white blurs, but I can see—"

"Eyes are complicated," said the woman softly. "They take longer to regenerate. The lens will clear, and the iris will darken, in a few days. Then there will be no evidence of the loss but your memories of it." She came over, and gently slid the eyepatch back into place. "This will ease the strain until the healing is complete."

Xander looked up at the woman. "Lady, I don't know who you are, but I think I could kiss you."

She smiled. "Matthias would not much approve, I fear."

"Back off." Buffy and Willow helped Xander up. "Who are you?" Buffy demanded. Again.

"What are you?" Giles echoed.

The woman laughed. "Little girl," she said to Buffy, "have you learned nothing in all this time? You, witch?" Willow shook her head. "The Watcher has already professed his ignorance. No one?" She glanced around the group. "How disappointing."

Buffy crossed her arms. "Make your point, because I'm getting bored."

The woman smiled again. It was disarming; it made her look helpless and charming and innocent. "There must be balance, Slayer. A coin must have two sides."

"Again. Your point?"

"There is no day without night. And there can be no Slayer if there is no Healer."