Chapter Three

Sunday, November 10, 2002 – Denny's diner, 611 Five Cities Drive, Pismo Beach; not long before sunset:

Amy sat opposite Whistler, watching him eat a dinner meal that included pancakes, syrup, onion rings, bacon, fries and a pair of eggs sunny-side up. "How can you possibly eat all that?"

"Ees goof," the Messenger said with his mouth full of food. Amy felt slightly ill as her mentor then swallowed and said, "Besides, from this point onwards? Things are gonna get real busy, at least as far as I can foresee. Gotta stock up on carbs, fats and protein. You oughta eat something as well."

For some reason, that caused Amy to have a flashback to when she was going through the horrible withdrawal pains, after Rack had been killed – slaughtered – by Black Magic Willow. The Messenger for the Powers had practically forced her to eat and drink properly, even while her body was flushing out the mystical toxins that Rack's dark magic had filled her up with.

{ No. Forget it. Those memories are not worth contemplating any longer; and that part of my life is over and done with now, anyway. } Amy took a moment to compose herself, before examining Whistler intently. "OK, when you say 'busy' – what exactly do you mean?"

Whistler gestured slightly with his head towards a nearby booth, and Amy was shocked to recognize her old Sunnydale High classmate – Xander Harris. The guy was eating alone, chewing on his barbecue burger with a thoughtful expression on his face. { Huh. What he's doing here? }

"You're probably wondering what's going on," Whistler's voice attracted her attention. "Well, thing is, kid, to make a long story short – the Construction Worker over there, he's the focal point of a lot of things we need to do to restore the balance to what it should be."

"Xander?!" Amy briefly turned around to stare at the Slayerette in question, before facing Whistler again. "I don't get it; what makes him so special? I mean, yeah, that thing with Willow all those months ago, but – "

"But what? He's powerless? Useless? Irrelevant in the grand scheme of things?" Whistler interrupted, putting his knife and fork down. He smirked at her in a way that Amy instantly detested. "Kid, free piece of advice for ya – don't fall into that trap. All of that guy's friends and enemies have, at one point or another, and it's caused them all to underestimate and ignore him. Heck, if they'd just looked an inch beyond their noses? They'd know that this world woulda ended up in Hell multiple times, if Harris hadn't been there to save the day!"

"Meaning?"

"Oh, you want a history lesson? OK, sure," Whistler picked up a piece of bacon with his fingers and started to nibble at it. "The end of your sophomore year, the blondie Slayer was prophesized to end up dead. And she did, but nobody ever saw Unrequited Crush Boy coming; he brought her back with CPR after she drowned, and then that girl saved the world by kicking Heinrich's ass – "

"Heinrich?"

"Ancient vampire who liked to call himself the Master. Heh, that clown had like zero imagination," Whistler briefly chuckled. "Anyway, the year after that? Harris came up with the notion of using a rocket launcher against His Honor's blue tuchus –"

"His Honor?"

"My little nickname for the Judge, apocalypse demon who woulda killed every righteous person on the planet," Whistler shrugged, causing her to gasp in horror. "The year after that, Harris came through twice – first when he prevented the high school from going 'boom!' not long after Little Miss Psycho Slayer popped his cherry, and then that thing with Richard Wilkins' Ascension. Sure, you were Rat Girl by that point; but you musta heard about all that afterwards, right?"

"Yeah," Amy nodded once. "I heard."

"Well, maybe what you didn't hear is the year after that, Harris was the inspiration for that joining spell to vanquish that A.D.A.M. thing. Hadn't been for Carpenter Boy's 'if only' wisecrack, the Watcher wouldn't have thought of anything to counter that Frankenstein's monster reject; and that woulda led to nothing but pure badness, not long afterwards. Sure, the year after that, Glorificus was a bit of a no-involvement for him; but Harris did come through with that wrecking ball when someone needed to knock that hell-bitch on her ass during the final battle, so I guess kudos to him for that. And a year or so later, of course, there was Kingman's Bluff and the Dark Wicca. Don't need me to go into details there, do you?"

"No, you don't," Amy said thickly, trying to clamp down on the immediate resentment where Willow was concerned.

"Thought not. Anyway, that's why Harris has got a bit of rep in certain circles. The one who sees everything. The Slayer's white knight. Even the whipping boy raised by mongrels. You remember his parents, right?"

"Vaguely," Amy shrugged. Then she looked at Whistler more carefully. She got the feeling there was something he knew which she didn't as she said, "Why do you ask?"

Whistler shrugged. "Different circumstances, those two coulda been your in-laws – and you'd be Amy Madison-Harris by now."

"WHAT?!" Amy semi-shrieked incredulously, ignoring the brief looks from some of the diner patrons not far away.

The Messenger for the Powers chortled as he waited for her to calm down. Then he said, "Yup. You remember that memorable Valentine's Day, right?"

She shuddered briefly. "Sure, but what's that got to do with anything?"

"Think about it, kid. Harris woulda backed off, if you hadn't let yourself be blackmailed into doing that botched love spell for him. He was hurting and pretty much judgment-impaired, but he would've eventually apologized to you for the whole attempted extortion thing, and then gotten over the Cheerleader dumping him like that. Hey; male teenager, plus lots of other fish in the sea who didn't think her friends were more important than her boyfriend. You woulda started looking at Harris all different-like, too, and ended up a fully-fledged member of that so-called Scooby Gang after he asked you to be his Prom date during junior year. The magic addiction and getting-turned-into-a-rat stuff wouldn't have happened either, what with that whole butterfly effect coming into play during your senior year. And sure, that Anyanka broad would still be gleefully killing unfaithful guys all over the world, but other than that – practically a happily-ever-after deal, you understand what I'm saying?"

"I... " Amy's brain couldn't focus enough to say more.

Whistler suddenly frowned and added, "Then again, takin' into account factors like Skippy and his current boss, probably not. Those two woulda done something to split you two up before Harris gave you his heart, and reunited him with the May Queen – in order for him to betray her a year or so later. Pretty much like a bad soap opera, don'tcha think?"

Amy's mind was still trying to come to grips with the information overload. "I – you – "

"Well, either way, probably not much point in dwelling on might-have-been's," the Messenger interrupted her, before grabbing one of his fries and taking a big bite out of it. "Here and now, he don't feel that way about you and you don't feel that way about him. And we've got a job to do, kid – so probably best to focus on that."

"I suppose," Amy nodded slowly, briefly watching Xander walk out of the diner after finishing his meal. Attempting to put aside what she'd just heard, she said to Whistler, "Even though you've been pretty tight-lipped on all the details which that job entails, so far."

"Yup, I know. Needed to make sure nobody got wind of what we're gonna get up to. See, later on tonight we need to start distracting that Skip guy, not to mention – "


A while later – the main lobby of the Hyperion Hotel, Los Angeles; early evening:

Cordelia saw Lorne putting the finishing touches onto the large symbol painted on the lobby floor, as she came down the staircase. She saw everyone gathered around, but didn't say anything for the moment.

"Oh, great. Symbols on the floor," Charles Gunn spoke up, frowning. "That's always good."

"Check your sarcasm at the door, pouty britches," Lorne replied, looking up at the black guy. "This is for Cordy."

"What's for me?"

Standing, Lorne looked up at her. "All this," he said, gesturing at the spell diagram on the floor.

"Oh, goody, just what I always wanted," Cordelia nodded, laughing a bit nervously. "Does it come in teal?"

"It can come in polka dots as long as it don't open no weird portals," Gunn cut in before Lorne could reply, scowling. "I just don't want no more portals opening up around here. I've had enough of that crap."

"Portals?" Cordelia frowned, pausing at the last step of the stairs. "There's a portal involved in this?"

"Sorry, Lorne," Fred said, ignoring her question and giving the green-skinned demon an apologetic look. "But we really have had enough of that crap."

"No, no portals, honey-cakes," Lorne said, smiling. "Just a handy-dandy little memory fixer-upper."

"Good," Cordelia said fervently, heading farther into the main lobby.

"Yeah," Gunn agreed with her. "Better not be anything like that, anyway. Don't wanna rain on Lorne's parade here, but – "

"Oh, hey, my parade is rain-proofed, buddy boy," Lorne said hurriedly. "I got me no doubts that this is the spell that's gonna bring our little Cordy right back to us. Lo-lath ch-owrng ne bruun."

Fred blinked, then smiled and replied, "Kaya-no-m'tek!"

Coming in through the front doors, Wesley Wyndam-Pryce frowned at the group. "Umm... did I miss the spell? Did the English go away already?"

"No, it's Pylean, crumpet," Lorne said, turning to face the new arrival. "I said, 'I may be prepared to shout a joyful chant.'"

Cordelia saw how Fred was staring at Wesley in wide-eyed surprise, in fact the other woman briefly looked shocked over his presence. After a moment, Fred licked her lips and told Wesley, "And I said, 'May your words please the gods.'"

Nodding, Wesley carefully examined Fred before saying, "Are you all right? Did you-?"

Fred shrugged nervously. "It's done."

Cordelia saw Gunn's eyes narrow significantly as his girlfriend and Wesley talked, noting the discomfort in their postures and body language. "So. We ready to get this show down Memory Lane, or what?" she asked, frowning as her gaze went from one to the other members of the group.

"Sure, Barbie," Gunn said, a bit absently. "Just give us a few to sort some stuff out."


A few moments later – the same place; early evening:

Time suddenly stopped, as Amy and Whistler appeared out of the shadows near the stairs and headed towards Angel and his crew. The witch and the Messenger went straight for Lorne, and Whistler deftly plucked the ceramic bottle out of the anagogic demon's hands. "Here ya go, kid. Tell me what's what."

Amy held the bottle in her hands and closed her eyes. It briefly glowed with an amber light, before the light vanished and the witch opened her eyes again. "Yeah, it's just like you said it'd be. That Skip guy has definitely added something to the mix, and it's specifically geared for Cordelia's mind. I'm guessing that demon doesn't want her to remember – well, you know."

"Yeah, no need to remind me," Whistler sighed theatrically. "So, can you get rid of the unwanted extra?"

"Gimme a sec," Amy replied, frowning and staring at the ceramic bottle. Again, it glowed briefly with an amber light before she said, "Yeah, I think so."

"OK. Take your time, make sure it's done right." Whistler shrugged, gesturing towards all the frozen people around them. "Not like these mooks are going anywhere."


A short while later – the same place; early evening:

All six of them – Lorne, Angel, Cordelia, Gunn, Fred, and Wesley – sat cross-legged in a circle around the symbol Lorne had painted upon the floor. The mystical diagram (a two-foot diameter circle with six evenly spaced three-foot spokes coming off of it) now had bundles of magical supplies in each section. All of them were holding hands as Lorne conducted the spell, with three lit white candles situated on each spoke of the circle.

"All right," Lorne said. "Eyes on the bottle. We come in supplication and hope. Bring her back."

The ceramic bottle began to move as Lorne intoned the spell, dancing in the middle of the circle.

"Bring her back," Lorne said, "I tell you once, twice, three times – bring her back!"

Suddenly, a burst of magical amber light streamed out of the bottle, with a stream heading for each person present. When the six streams of lights had connected, the bottle fell over and spun around madly within the center of the circle.

Blinking as the amber light encompassed her head, Cordelia said uncomprehendingly, "Wait! What's going on?"

"Uh... " Lorne groaned. "I feel a little... " Attempting to get to his feet, he stumbled and slipped back down before crawling away from the circle, and eventually collapsing behind the main counter.

"What's happening to us?" Gunn demanded, looking around in confusion.

One by one, all of them began to stand – only to stumble, slip back to their knees and crawl away from the spell diagram in all directions, before passing out.


A few minutes later – the same place; early evening:

Finally, the amber glow faded from around their heads and the various members of the group began to awaken. The first to wake up, Gunn rolled over, braced himself on one hand and pushed himself first to his knees, and then to his feet.

"Oh... man," he said slowly. Gunn put a hand to his forehead, groaning. "I feel like the seventh day of a six-day tequila bash. What happened to me?" Looking around, he added, "And where am I?"

Seeing that he was apparently in the lobby of a hotel of some sort, he frowned at the sprawled forms of several people on the lobby floor. "Musta been some party. Nice-looking babes. Huh."

Spotting a display of weapons on one wall across the room, he brightened considerably. "Ooh – shiny!" Gunn smiled and wandered over to start examining the swords and axs.

He heard one of the women groan and turned to see her haul herself up to a sitting position. Then the brunette said with a distinctive Texan accent, "Oh... my head... "

Grabbing hold of the edge of a large potted plant next to her, the Texan woman pulled herself to her feet and stood up, swaying and looking around. "Wow. This is important. It's so beautiful... " she said, before suddenly bending over and puking into the plant.

Gunn grimaced, looking disgusted. That moment of distraction was why he never heard someone groan behind the furniture at the back of the lobby, near the rear doors leading deeper into the hotel. Why Gunn never saw Angel gripping his head with both hands. Why he never saw the vampire roll over and then back again, not even trying to get up. He never heard Angel fall asleep again with a slight snoring sound, either. He was too focused on the brunette spewing out the contents of her stomach –

{ What the hell is going on here? } Gunn asked himself, as the woman finally managed to stop vomiting.


A moment later – the same place; early evening:

On the other side of the room, some yards away, Wesley groaned and rolled over. Scowling, he felt around for his glasses, pulling his hand back hastily after it encountered something round and soft. Flushing bright red after realizing what that 'something' was, he stammered, "Oh! My. Dreadfully sorry... " and then he rolled over the other direction. After a moment, he managed to find his glasses and work himself up to his feet.

Luckily, the young woman with the obviously-dyed blond hair looked like she hadn't even registered the inadvertent breach of decorum. She groaned and sat up, blinking. "Ouch. Where... what... huh?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, she put a hand to her forehead. "OK... that's the last time I do Jell-O shots."

"May I help you, Miss?" Wesley said, stepping over to her, swaying slightly. He extended a hand down to the woman in question, judging her to be an American by her accent.

"Ah... OK," the colonial frowned, but nonetheless accepted the hand and allowed Wesley to pull her to her feet. "Who... what... "

"I'm not certain," Wesley said, looking down at her. { Who is this person? }

"OK. What's going on here?" the young woman scowled, backing away from him. "And who are... wait... I don't... "

Waving him off and turning, she staggered across the floor toward the center of the room, unknowingly stepping across the spell diagram. "Just... "

Wesley took a hesitant step toward her, his hand outstretched, and she half-turned to wave him off again. "Just, just stay back... "

Her foot hit a ceramic bottle and she stumbled, catching her balance – just as the woman's other foot came down squarely upon the bottle, and shattered it. There was a quick flash of amber light, and a cold wind whipped through the lobby for a moment. Magic swirled through the hotel lobby, wild and uncontrolled...

{ What the bloody hell is going on? } Wesley asked himself in amazement, able to sense the magicks involved despite his lack of true magical proficiency.

The clumsy tart then abruptly straightened up. "OK. What the hell is happening here?" she said again, demandingly this time.

Holding his hands out and wearing a reassuring expression, Wesley said, "What's your name?"

"Cordelia Chase, Dipstick," she said scathingly. "And what's it to you, anyway? Who the hell are you?"

"I, ah, I'm Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," he replied. Raising his hands, he attempted what he thought would be a placating gesture. Unfortunately, bending his wrists to hold his hands palm outward caused an unseen mechanism to shoot a stake out from one sleeve, and another to extend a contraption that began unfolding into a sword.

"Ahhhh!" Miss Chase's eyes widened and she screamed, jumping back and away from him. "You – " Extending her arm, she pointed at him and said, "You just stay away from me. I see what's going on here, now!"

Barely registering her words, Wesley jumped back, looking startled, and he stared down at his wrists. { Good Lord, what-? }

"What's goin' on here, already?" a dark-skinned man said, running back into the center of the room and twirling a double-headed battle ax. "Hey! You all right, Miss?"

"No! I'm not – " Miss Chase snapped her head around to face the new arrival, then did a brief double take. "Well, hello salty goodness!"

Flashing her a bright, toothy grin, the black man turned to face Wesley and scowled menacingly. "Hey, now – you leave this gal alone, y'hear?"

"I can assure you," Wesley replied, still examining his wrist weapons, "I have no intentions of harming her, or anyone else. Now, if I can just... "

"Oh, yeah, suuurrrreee," Miss Chase replied at once, her tone turning rather sarcastic and superior. "Like I haven't heard that before! And then the roofies come out, and the next thing ya know? I'm waking up in chains, trapped in a basement and about to be fed to a snake demon!"

"Snake demon?" the black man turned his head to stare at her, his look one of fairly obvious confusion. "Whatchew talking about, Barbie?"

"My name's not 'Barbie'!"

"OK, so who are you then?"

"I'm Cordelia Chase, Dumbass," the woman in question snapped at the black man, her eyes flashing dangerously. "And if this is some sort of nightmare like where I get doped up in a college frat house, or some kidnapping thing where you think you're going to cut my head off and attach it to the Bride of Bimbostein? Well, you got another think coming, buster! I'm from Sunnydale, and I know about stuff like this!"

{ What on earth is she talking about? } Wesley asked himself in confusion. { And is the woman even talking in English? }

"OK, now, just calm down, girl," the black man said, shaking his head. "I don't know what y'all are on about, but – "

"It's called kidnapping a minor, Hair Club for Men," Miss Chase interrupted rudely, backing away from him and the black man. "And if you think for one second that I'm gonna be putting up with this, well, you don't know Cordelia Chase! My parents are gonna be suing the entire population of Sunnydale. Or wherever this is. Comprendez?"

"Hey now! No need to be insulting the 'do," the black man said, scowling at her. "Ain't none of that going on here."

"Well... it could be," another female voice spoke up, this one with a distinct accent – Texan, if he guessed rightly.

Wesley (and everyone else) looked around to see the brunette walking up to them, wiping at her mouth with the back of one hand. "I mean – not the frat house thing, but – it might be a government kidnapping for psychological experimentation and stuff, you know?"

"Oh, great," Miss Chase said in disgust. "Now we have the female version of Agent Mulder on the scene. So where's Scully, Little Miss The Truth Is Out There?"

"Hey!" the Texan woman snapped back at her, scowling. "I know about this stuff! I've read all about it!"

"What, in Weekly World News?" the black man asked facetiously, starting to grin at her.

"Well, yeah... " the dark-haired woman nodded enthusiastically. "And in other publications. Oh – has anyone got any weed? I could use a toke right now."

"This is just great," Miss Chase commented acerbically, rolling her eyes. "I've woken up with Cheech Marin, Shaft, and Lame Bond. Can my life possibly get any weirder?"

Finally figuring out his wrist mechanisms, Wesley managed to retract and fold away his sword and extendable stake – without cutting himself in the process. "Now, let's not be too hasty about discounting this woman's theory. I have heard of something similar – "

"Where? Outer Limits Quarterly?" Miss Chase cut him off at once. "Jeez. Not even Xander is dumb enough to come up with something like that!"

"Who's Xander?" the Texan asked curiously.

"No, of course not," Wesley said, ignoring the other woman's question. "But – "

"My boyfriend. In Sunnydale," Miss Chase said in reply to the other woman's question, ignoring him completely. "And boy, is he going to be pissed off when he finds out what's happened to me! He'll probably... "

"He'll probably what?" the black man asked, looking at her.

"Uh... " Miss Chase rolled her eyes. "Panic, and not do much else that's effective. Damn it. Oh! He'll get Buffy!"

"Buffy?" Wesley and the other two said in unison, staring at her.

"Yeah, Buffy!" Miss Chase replied, heatedly. "What's wrong with – OK, so it is kind of a dumb name, but anyway... "

"OK, all right, hold it!" the black man interrupted hurriedly. "Time out! Whoa." Turning to Miss Chase, he pointed at her. "You, you're Cordelia something – Chase, I think y'all said – and you're from Sunnydale, right? Rich girl?"

"Well, yeah!" Miss Chase said, frowning at him. "I go to school there."

"Oh, really? I'm Fred," the brunette said, while patting herself down and digging through her pockets. "Fred Burkle. I go to school too, in San Antonio!"

"Oh, we're both in school. Well, gosh, let's be best friends so I can lose all my cool ones," Miss Chase said cuttingly, folding her arms across her chest and rolling her eyes.

"Now, there's no need to be snippety, Miss," Wesley said pompously.

"This is like a clarion call for snippety, Princess Charles," Miss Chase immediately fired back at him.

"It's Wesley, thank you. Wyndam-Pryce," he replied. Grabbing his lapels, he puffed up with pride before saying, "I am from southern Hampshire. In fact, I happen to be Head Boy at the Academy."

Miss Chase rolled her eyes again. "Gee, I wonder how you earned that title!"

Wesley smirked at her, not getting the innuendo. "With a lot of effort, I don't mind saying."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?" the black man asked, waggling his eyebrows. Miss Chase snickered, nodding.

"And who would you be?" Wesley demanded, scowling at him.

"Gunn."

"Where?" Wesley said, whirling around. His stake mechanism activated again, much to his annoyance.

Sighing heavily, the black man clarified, "My. Name. Is. Gunn. Me. That's my name. The short version. Charles Gunn."

"Yes, well, now that we're all acquainted," Wesley said, ignoring the looks being sent in his direction.

"Yeah, great. We've all got names," Cordelia agreed, turning and walking toward the door. "I'm out of here. Bye now."

"Ah, Miss Chase?" Wesley asked. The woman paused and half turned back, and he continued, "Perhaps we should first determine where we are? And what's happened to us all?"

"Well... " Miss Chase said, her tone of voice grudging, "I'm just about convinced that you guys didn't kidnap me."

"Someone sure did," Miss Burkle said, searching through her pockets again.

"I mean, as far as I can tell," Miss Chase added, ignoring that, "you people are more the Hair Bear Bunch than members of the Manson family."

"Hey!" Mr. Gunn said, giving her an insulted look.

Shaking his head, Wesley said, "I wouldn't be so quick to leave, Miss Chase. Clearly, we're all victims of some nefarious scheme."

The woman smiled brightly at him and said, "Well, duh!" Mr. Gunn snickered, grinning at her.

"So before we do anything, I suggest we gather as much information as we can," Wesley said, deliberately ignoring their mocking.

Miss Chase rolled her eyes yet again. "And I suggest we simply call the cops."

"Yo... I don't want no heat near me," Mr. Gunn said at once, shaking his head.

"I don't think we should call the police, anyhow," Miss Burkle added worriedly.

"Well of course you don't, Miss Felony User," Miss Chase replied, caustically.

"Oh, please. Under an ounce is a misdemeanor," Miss Burkle said dismissively. She shook her head again, "No – I mean, they're probably involved."

"In what?" Mr. Gunn demanded, scowling.

"Hey!" Miss Burkle said loudly, staring earnestly at all of them. "Don't y'all think this is maybe some kind of government conspiracy? 'Cause according to my friend, Levon, the government's always taking kids and experimenting on 'em. I – "

"Kids? One moment – Miss Burkle, exactly how old are you?" Wesley interrupted, frowning.

"Seventeen," the brunette replied, looking confused.

"So am I," Mr. Gunn frowned.

"Myself as well," Wes said, looking around at the others.

"Really? 'Cause none of you look it," Miss Chase scowled. "But yeah, for the record – me too."

Miss Burkle quickly brushed that aside. "Anyway, did anybody else have to take a personality disorder test recently? They ask you about politics and your bowel movements and if you want to be a florist – "

"I took that test. On Career Day. It's a vocational aptitude test," Miss Chase cut her off, looking annoyed and fed up. "And now that we've heard from Scarlett O'PleaseShutMeUp, does anyone sane have a theory?"

"There are conspiracies and stuff," Miss Burkle muttered indignantly. "Y'all don't even know... "

Mr. Gunn shrugged. "I got no problem with the idea that the Man is messing with us."

"The important thing is to start with the facts," Wesley insisted.

"Yeah?" Arching her eyebrows, Miss Chase gave him a skeptical look. "So fact me, Head Boy Guy."

Snickering, Mr. Gunn said, "Hey, now – don't be giving him no ideas, Barbie."

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Hair Club," Cordelia replied, briefly snickering back at him.

"No." Wesley puffed himself up again. "Seriously – we're all from different cities and even a different country in my case, we're all of a similar age... " Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he added, "And judging from the amount of facial hair I've grown, we've all been unconscious for at least a month."

"Hrmm."

Looking a bit heartened by Miss Chase's frown and the others' attention, Wesley grew a bit more confident. "We have weapons," he said, pointing at Mr. Gunn's ax. "Including a stake among mine, which is generally used for – "

"Staking vampires, right, right," Miss Chase cut him off, gesturing impatiently.

"Vampires?" Miss Burkle blinked owlishly at her. "Oh, come on... "

"No, no, she's absolutely correct," Wesley said, nodding. "All right. I'm going to let you all in on something you may have trouble comprehending. I can assure you, however, that – "

"Vampires are real," Mr. Gunn spoke up, stealing his thunder.

Grinning, Miss Chase tapped her nose and pointed at the black man. "Got it in one, Salty."

"I was telling this!" Wesley said petulantly.

"Vampires are all over L.A. I've been fighting 'em since I was twelve," Mr. Gunn said, shrugging and ignoring him.

"Me too," Miss Chase said, nodding. "Well, since I was sixteen, anyway. I drove my car over a bunch of them last year. And hey, did I get yelled at for crashing it into the school!"

"You hit the side of the school?" Miss Burkle asked, her eyebrows going up.

"No. Into the high school," Miss Chase clarified impatiently. "Inside. To get away from the vampires."

"Hey, now," Mr. Gunn said, admiringly. "That's stylin'."

"Well, then, now that we've established that most of us are aware of the real world," Wesley said, unable to help it as an annoyingly petulant tone crept into his voice. "As I was saying, we have weapons suitable for vampire slaying, and I'll lay odds that the front door is bolted shut. And who knows what peril lies outside it?"

"Again," Miss Chase said, looking annoyed. "Duh! It might even be something hideous, like – traffic!"

"You jest," Wesley replied, scowling. "However, I can assure you that there are stories at the Academy of a test. A secret gauntlet which only the most cunning can survive. You're locked up in a house with a vicious, deadly – "

"Vampire!" Miss Chase abruptly yelled, pointing.

"Well, yes, as I was say – "

"No!" Miss Chase jumped behind Mr. Gunn and leaned out from around the black man, gesturing emphatically at someone standing behind him. Then Wesley heard the annoying chit yell, "Vampire! Vampire, you idiot!"

TBC…


A/N: Duh-duh-duh-dah-dum! Who do you think the mystery vampire is? Angel, or someone else? We're in seriously AU territory from this point onwards, folks, so don't talk anything for granted.

And we have to admit, part of this chapter was a response to a post on Television Without Pity way back when - WHY didn't Cordelia remember anything about vampires and demon during the events of "Spin The Bottle"? Why did she revert to the mindset of a clueless sophomore from her pre-Marcie Ross days, while everyone else was at least seventeen years old? Sure, you could argue that the writers screwed up, or the future plot arc for Jasmine/the Beastmaster demanded it, but still.

Anyway, we hope you enjoyed the chapter; and whether you did or not, please tell us what you thought of the latest developments!