Chapter 7: What May be, May Not.

I left the gym, not staying another moment under the glare of horror and entered a concrete maze of hallways.

Immediately, I had three choices to make, one straight, one left and one right. Not curbing my furious walk, I chose the one ahead and walked on. My mind was as blank as the stone walls around me; I willed it to be, refusing to think about that scene in the gym. Whatever it was. It was weird, granted, that the awareness took over at that moment and I so easily kicked her ass in that state of mind, but from the demonologists and the vampires, how weird could it be for this place? Even then, as I tried to argue with myself, something still felt off.

A metal staircase appeared in front of me and immediately, I took them, weaving up and up through stone. I passed by several doors, probably several floors and yet, I didn't stop. I walked and walked, continuing without end. Could I walk in this place until my feet bled?

It had been— or felt like it had been— hours and I still had yet to run into a human face.

It's going away . . . it's going away . . . going . . . going . . . gone

Then, I heard arguing, but I couldn't tell from where. Only one door stood next to me, and a stone column was to my right. I opened the door, but the noise didn't get louder— the door only leading out into a hallway. The door closing, I then noticed a slit along the wall, in the crevice of the door and the wall. I ran a hesitant hand down the slit and the wall to my left shifted back to reveal a crawl space large enough for me to fit through. The scene downstairs completely forgotten, I stepped into the hole and walked forward.

Dust clung everywhere and insulation padding hung in tattered patches along the walls. I walked on, and then, when the stale air was almost unbearable, a brush of cool wind ran around the corner. I walked on, and saw a jagged cut in the stone. I poked an eye through and my jaw dropped.

Buffy and "the gang" were all sitting in various places around what looked to be a bedroom while Buffy stood staring at all of them.

"She's not crazy," Buffy said firmly. "We can't always pick up Sunny Abby from Brightberg Farms. These are girls from everywhere, all different backgrounds. We're bound to have some . . . rough girls."

"Rough, yeah." Xander said. I couldn't see him but I recognized his voice. "Rough, that's ok. But rough leads to painful and pointy. And painful and pointy girls are bad. Faith was painful and pointy—"

He paused and, by the way his breath hitched, I imagined his face turning bright red as if he remembered something horrible. He audibly gulped. " . . . but, uh, my point is that this girl could become the next killer of Bill. I mean Kennedy, Kennedy, the girl who wrote the book on Hard Ass, was shaking when I brought her back to the hospital."

"Yeah, Buffy, I don't know about her." Willow said. "Kennedy was a little rattle-y and she didn't talk much. She just kept saying something about 'being very fast' and being 'too slow'. And her forearms were completely black and blue. Like she had been blocking off attacks from uh . . . the killer of Bill."

"Maybe we should talk to her roommate, you know see what's going on behind closed doors. Like if she's taken out any scary weapons and polishes glass eyeballs of her past victims." Buffy said, a frown growing over her face as she considered the very real possibility.

"Buffy, that's overacting just a bit, don't you think?" I heard Giles say. "I believe you were right with what you said, about her bad background, which was why we took such precautions with taking in her before. But I think she has potential. Although those precautions shouldn't be forgotten . . ." He said this last very pointedly, clearly implying something.

"'Precautions'?" Buffy asked. " What are you talking about, G—,"

Her voice caught as she realized what he meant. "Oh, no, no, no, no. Giles, I am NOT fan of that plan. Willow, tell Crazy here what she almost did to Kennedy! We cannot just let that girl loose!"

"Buffy, be reasonable here. Think about what you just said, moments before. She will not be 'let loose'. Spike can train her. Like it or not, Spike is a far bit more . . . rouged than Kennedy and can probably withstand a good deal more than she. Let him catch her up on the basics and let him assess her as to whether or not she is insane."

"But hello, vampire and Slayer. She gets pissy and Spike goes poof. She might not know how yet, but eventually she will and if he's the one training her, he'll go poof faster than ever."

"However, should we explain he must remain . . . un-staked, then she should abide by what we say and, if she doesn't . . ."

"Its kind of point one for the crazy score." Xander said quietly. "Not that I ever like a plan involving the help of Spike, this is kind of what he does."

"Die?" Buffy asked in shock.

"No, but he does like to mash stuff. Why not take a newbie with him into the journey of death and destruction?"

Buffy was quiet for a moment, her arms crossed and there was a momentary flash of a bizarre something on Buffy's face; something appeared there that wasn't supposed to. Then it was gone. She straightened her shoulders, her face tight.

"So, I'm supposed to leave this room, go find Spike and tell him that he's been promoted to serial-killer babysitter?"

"Not 'babysitter' exactly, he will train her and make her a better Slayer, while at the same time check for signs of . . . an unbalanced mind."

"And if she is 'unbalanced' then what?"

"We send her to the remaining Council." Giles said this with an air of slight disgust, loathing and such finality, "the Council" very well might have been hell on Earth.

"Could I again say that I no-likey this plan?" Buffy said, in a soft voice, trying again but Giles stood and put a firm hand on her shoulder.

"I know you of all people would be apprehensive about this but we have to put the benefit of this girl first. Spike is a skilled fighter and she would receive the best training, which is what we should consider. Maybe if Angel came back from L.A for a while, this could help you settle—"

"No!" Buffy said a bit too loudly. She flushed for just a moment before pulling away from Giles and heading towards the door. "No, Giles, it's ok. You're right; this is the best thing to do. We have to put this Reid girl as a high priority. I just don't like Spike being alone with someone that's one 'cu' short of a cuckoo bird. Thanks, guys." She smiled to everyone in the room then left.

Giles walked over to the door to close it completely, his glasses off and a forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Do you really think its safe, for Spike to be alone with someone like her?" Willow asked.

"I don't think anything will happen if he doesn't want it to. Spike nearly bested Buffy herself more than once. My only worry is what affect he will have on her. Soul or not, Spike enjoys a decent fight and all I can hope for is that she doesn't give him one, pushing him over the edge."

"You think he would kill her?" Willow asked, her voice very small.

"No," Giles said quickly, as if to reassure Willow. "I would never have suggested the idea if I did. But that's my fear. We can never exactly predict what Spike will do. I simply do not know the limitations of the soul, what will it let him do and what it won't."

"Like if he broke her arm or something, would he feel bad about it?"

"It's the something I'm worried about."

The sun had set by the time I had reached the main foyer. From the massive amount of noise coming from the oak doors adjacent to the front, it was dinner. Not a soul was in sight and I took that as a blessing. If one more person looked at me like I was the thing that ate the thing from the Black Lagoon, I'd explode.

My arms were wrapped me in almost a straightjacket fashion as I crossed the wooden floors, my footfalls echoing lightly. Wild scarlet hair hung in front of my eyes as my head was dipped slightly, with my neck buried in the jacket's collar. A slight metallic taste oozed into my mouth from my clamped lips; if they were any tighter together I would have bitten through flesh. If my behavior could be described, an onlooker would have said I was trying to implode on myself. Everything was tight and cramped, my legs the only mobile thing.

I walked up to the fair metal staircase and swirled up through the floors. Whether it was subconscious or not, my feet managed to bring me to my mahogany wood door. I blinked as my hand touched cool metal, the journey getting here flashing across my mind in incomplete trains of thought. Immediately, I went to my dresser and pulled out a grey zip-up sweatshirt. The smell clinging to the jacket was that of autumn Manhattan. The scent of roasted almonds and burning fireplaces raised a thousand memories to mind, most very happy without a following stab to the heart. For a single moment, I remember being in the snow, sheltered by white and a pleasant cold. A little girl in my memory wore this very jacket and now she did again. I crawled to the corner of my bed, where the pillows met the wall, and lifted the hood over my head. Imaginary gusts of cold pricked my ears and I melted farther and farther away into the jacket.

They believed I was dangerous, possibly crazy, so they were setting me up with another loonie to make me into a better weapon.

Maybe they were the crazy ones.

They didn't know I knew. Who was going to tell me? How were they going to tell me? Would it be quietly, just in passing? Or would it be a huge ordeal, to make sure everyone knew about the crazy girl?

Suddenly, I was thrown into darkness and the lights flipped off. With closed eyes, I heard Ericka move around the bedroom, go into the bathroom for a moment then crawl into bed. It was about an hour later when slow shallow breathing echoed around the room.

Was she scared of me too?

A squirmy, tight feeling slipping on the inside of my stomach, I jerked under the covers and stared at the wall until my eyes pulled themselves shut.

Ericka left again in the early morning and returned later with a biscuit and some orange juice. I already changed into a semi-clean pair of clothes by the time she came back. We hadn't said a word to each other all morning.

"You really should eat." She finally said, after leaving the food on the edge my bed and now lacing up running shoes. "You'll need it."

"Why is there going to be something different today?" I asked, trying to pull anything out of her.

"Not really," Ericka replied, very smoothly. I was still expecting the rest of the answer and in that brief hesitation in which she made up an excuse, I knew she was nervous. "We're going to see Willow today and breaking off spells can be hard on an empty stomach."

"Oh. Right."

I reached over and took the biscuit. It didn't look appetizing in the slightest. Ericka had gone to the bathroom and using that moment, I hid the biscuit in one of the drawers under the lamp. As she came back out, I chugged the orange juice. It was sharp and bitter and wonderful. My throat and nostrils burned as I drank the last drop. Ericka was watching me.

"Hungry." I muttered and followed her out the door.

We headed down to the main hall where, instead of going off into one of the other halls, Ericka walked across the wood foyer and went to the main door. She opened it and immediately a sharp gush of winter wind tackled my face. I closed the door behind us, shivering. Ericka saw me with my hands deep in my pockets.

"Don't worry, it's just a short walk."

We walked down stone steps and out to a circled, cobblestone driveway. At the far end of the cobblestones, a large brick wall ran left and right out of sight, opened only by a metal gate, similar to the circular stairs inside. A path led off from the cobblestones, weaving through foliage and thick trees. Ericka stepped onto it and I followed her. We were eventually dumped out by the side of the house, and my mouth dropped.

Green was as far as the eye could see, from green fields patched with dirt in a way that showed the telltale sign of a beaten path, to the large trees, spotted with target carved into their barks. Next to those trees were boxes with loaded crossbows sitting atop them. But Ericka walked passed those, and even passed a station that held what looked to be large water guns, but in the chamber that usually held the water, a fiery liquid swirled. It flashed and shifted although the gun was completely still. After staring at it for too long, I suddenly received a foreboding chill, as though the liquid stood for some darker purpose. But I couldn't stare too long for Ericka walked at a brisk pace and I jogged a moment to catch up. A group of girls was doing a warm up on a patch of dirt about twenty feet away. It resembled yoga but there was something fiercer about their movements than regular positions.

A harsh wind suddenly picked up and scooped the inside of my jacket.

"Is this thing outside?" I asked and noticed for the first time that Ericka wore a large red parka, while I only had my thin grey jacket. A grumble of annoyance thundered in my stomach.

"No, in the summer it is. But right, now it's in a tent."

True enough, as we passed the group, we went down a small hill and at the end a giant tent waited. But it was unlike any other tent I had ever seen. It was unbelievably huge, circus-like in size and painted purple with gold and scarlet lines drawing patterns and pictures all over. Green and blue fabric was attached to the roof without any apparent glue or tape. Yellow sheets with black prints emblazed on them hung around the strings that kept the tent to the ground. A column of white smoke poured out of the very top of the tent. Had I not know what it was, I would have said it was the home of a very gay Indian nomad.

We stumbled down the hill and Ericka pulled back a layer of fabric. I caught the fabric as it closed and followed her in. The symbols continued on the inside of the tent. Randomly, I recognized several Egyptian signs and Greek letters. There were even a few Asian symbols. Mix matched square mats covered the inside, similar to the outer coverings only this was more extensive. There was not a single scrap of tent material to be seen, the rug-like scraps pasted on the floors and walls, everywhere. No windows were in sight yet somehow the room was bathed in a gentle warm glow. As we circled around, Ericka dived into stack of maroon pillows, and I saw a small metal moveable fireplace with a large black chimney puffing hidden smoke out of the tent.

Yuri had appeared from nowhere and involved Ericka in a deep conversation, so I took up a pillow cave of my own, immediately being swallowed by the dark plush after sitting down. As my eyes adjusted, I noticed a few other girls in the other pillow lounges. They were all talking and chattering and giggling. Whatever Yuri was telling Ericka, it was clearly hilarious. And whatever the brunette was telling the blonde across the room, it was obviously scandalous. The group behind me was playing "Anywhere but Here." Someone to my far right was speaking in fluent Farsi and the girl with whom she was speaking replied in what sounded like German. Someone in the room was speaking in clicks and someone else sung a short song. It was loud, too loud and quickly evolving into pointless white noise.

A large curtain above the far back wall opened and a white light illuminated the room, then slowly the light faded and Willow moved out into the center of the room. She wore a dress that resembled dried seaweed. Her hair cascaded down thin white shoulders, the image of water on an ice glacier coming to mind. She wore a pleasant expression, one that was calm and relaxed.

"Howdy," she grinned and waved around the room. "So if you guys remember anything from last week, I think we'll be starting up around charms, how to shake them off and know when someone is under the influence of one."

Kennedy appeared from behind the same curtain Willow had and smiled.

"So, we'll be starting off with knowing if someone is under a charm."

Willow's hand shimmered a soft gold and immediately a glazed look fell over Kennedy's face.

"What's your name?" Willow asked the girl beside her.

"Kennedy," she replied, her face still very distant.

"Now, see the victim might be aware of basic facts, like name or date, and they might behave kinda normally, depending on how powerful the spell, but even then they will always be a little sketchy on the certain type of information that is relative to whatever their caster is trying to hide. Like here, I cast a spell on Kennedy to make her keep a secret about where this place is. Example."

"Where are we?" Willow asked.

"Check a map, silly."

A collective chuckle spread around the group, finding the fact that their drill sergeant used the word "silly" chuckle-worthy.

"See, they'll use an answer that sounds right, but never a definitive response."

Willow raised a glowing hand, and the glassy eyes vanished.

"Now, as you entered, I put a spell on several of you. Whoever figures out who was charmed by the time class is over, gets a reprieve on being charmed next time."

There was a short silence as everyone looked to their neighbor, as though one of them would jump up and shout, "I'm a charmed one!" But obviously, no one did and slowly they climbed to their feet and began to look around. Kennedy was whispering something to Willow, which made her turn crimson in the face and give the brunette a toothy smile before looking back at the girls, who had started to interview each other.

"Who's the President?"

"Who do YOU think the President is?"

"Oh, hey, you're avoiding!"

"Am not!"

I rolled my eyes, snuggling deeper into the cushions, hoping they would eat me whole. Ericka noticed my wiggling and came over, Yuri off on the other side of the room, asking two French girls some very serious questions.

"So, um, where are we?"

"Southern Oregon, in a place where Slayers are trained by a girl named Buffy Summers. Oh and her very gay, best friend, Willow."

Ericka paused, and I nodded over her shoulder. Kennedy was next to the witch, both surveying the group of girls. Very slowly, the brunette reached over and brushed her fingertips on the witch's side. Willow turned scarlet again and bit her lip slightly before batting her hand away. Ericka's mouth dropped.

"Oh . . ." She muttered. She glanced back at me. "How long have you known? Did she tell you?"

I raised an eyebrow. "When you look at Willow, there's no huge DUH that goes off in your head?"

"I mean a little but . . . wow."

Ericka was still staring as I rolled my eyes.

"So where are we?"

"Are you sure she's gay?"

"Gay-dar. Flashing. Yes. Tell me some basics so I can get this stupid thing over with."

"She doesn't really act like it. Maybe Kennedy is trying to make her gay . . ."

"Ericka, it's not that big a deal!" I exclaimed and sat up, grabbing her shoulder to face me. "Come on! Focus on—"

Focus. She was completely unfocused, fixated on something very insignificant. She's Charmed. I let go of her shoulder, and fell back in the cushions. Ericka was completely unaware of my revelation, still staring absentmindedly at Willow and Kennedy.

She came in right before me. I followed her in. Did magic work in such away that it on the person it was aiming for? Or was it like a gas where it could be spread, as in from one person then onto the next.

Yuri. My eyes whirled around the room as I searched for the Asian. She was still talking to the French girls but now they wore confused faces.

Wait, so if she was infected that means so was I.

I grabbed Ericka again, literally sitting in front of her to keep her staring at my face.

"Ask me a question. Ask me anything."

"Why are you holding me like this?"

My jaw clenched, I shook her by the shoulders. "Another question, Ericka. Think of the exercise. We're close."

"Um . . . who's the President?"

"No!"

"Ms. Rosenberg!"

A girl in the far back corner of the tent raised her hand, a determined look on her face.

"I think I know who's Charmed."

Willow grinned. "Ok, Jess, lets hear your guesstimation?"

"Marie-Elise and Laure."

Yuri frowned, for those were the two girls she had been talking too and obviously hadn't suspected them as Charmed. But, true enough, the two girls' frowns melted away and they smiled brightly.

"What's the poof for that?"

Jess, the girl in the back, shrugged. "They're kind of playing the obvious card. They're not asking questions, to anyone."

Yuri's frown grew darker, bearing on the edge of scowl as she stared up at the girl in the back. But she ignored the growing glares from around the room.

"Very good, Jess. You're exempt-girl."

There was an inaudible growl.

That simply wasn't good enough.

"Wait." I said and stood. Willow looked at me and frowned slightly. Apparently she hadn't forgotten my more than hostile attitude in the hospital ward. I stood straighter and angled my jaw out.

"I think Ericka could have been affected. And maybe me."

Willow's frown deepened, turning from slight aggression to curiosity. "Maybe you could be a little off. Since it's your first day and all but I only put spell on two people."

"But can't spell change directly, or go wrong—"

"Not Willow's." Kennedy stepped forward, slightly blocking Willow from my view.

"Things can always go wrong," I said pointedly, more at Kennedy than Willow. "But isn't it true that spells can be spread through contact." Attempt one for the Bullshit Community. "When I tried to question Ericka, she didn't respond, only stared at Will—"

Realization hit me like a lightening bolt. I froze, standing above the rest of the Slayers in the sea of cushions with all eyes upon me, and no words would come to my mouth. I glanced at Ericka, but she wasn't even looking at me. She sat, twisted away, with a blonde lock of hair covering the half of her face that I should have been able to see.

I didn't get a melodrama Barbie. I got her gay cousin.

Willow glanced at us, the unbearably tight feeling in the room reaching an agonizing level.

"Well, yeah." She said. I didn't tear my eyes away from Ericka. "Spells could pass through contact but that's not usually what happens. But you did make a good point."

Willow turned away from us, the frown gone but her eyes dark as if she knew what I had just done.

"If you believe someone near you is under the influence, you might want to get checked yourself. Maybe the spell wouldn't have passed through contact, but you certainly could have been enchanted too. So, remember if you're close by, get checked! Class dismissed."

There was a subtle chuckle, the innuendo obviously not missed. Girls got up and left, all in groups laughing and chuckling. A few were actually talking to that other girl Jess. The laughter made me start.

"Look, I didn't—"

"Shut up, Reid," Ericka said beneath the hair. She looked up at me and I could tell that she was trying with all her power, to keep from crying. Her blue eyes were shimmering. "You were bad news from the start. I heard you were dangerous but I didn't know you'd be such a bitch. Please, just leave me the hell alone."

She then stood and bolted from the tent. Yuri saw her leave in a flurry, her face hurt and empathetic. She stared out of the tent for a while before giving me a hideous glare and walking out after Ericka.

I needed to hit something. And that certainly wasn't the Slayer talking. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Willow walk towards me. Immediately, I rushed from the cushions and whipped through the curtain leading outside. The sun was bright, though the afternoon was foggy and thick. I rushed up to the house and slipped through the door and began to walk. Gym, or training —or whatever the fuck they liked to call it— was next, but honestly, I had no idea how to get there and asking anyone for directions was out of the question, so I'd resort to what I did best. Skip. Skip the damn class. It's not like anybody was going to try and stop me.

Maybe I just wanted to walk. Walk until my feet bled. Yeah, that sounded like a great plan. Walk through those front doors and—

"Reid Robinson?"

I spun, my name jerking me into reality. The guy with the eye patch, Xander, was walking up to me.

"No. I don't know who that girl is."

"Laughs a plenty," he glared. "Lets go."

He moved passed me, but I stayed frozen to the ground. "Where?"

"Let's just call it 'special treatment'."

"As in spa?" I followed him. "Great, because there are these bastards of calluses—"

Damn. Double damn. Triple damn. Shit. Double shit. Mother—

"What?"

He stopped walking. I was a few feet back and he glanced over his shoulder, wrinkling his nose as if he smelled something foul.

"Nothing. Just remembered something I forgot to do."

That something was to run as fast I could away from this place the second I heard about the 'extra training sessions'. But of course, they didn't know that I knew that they thought I was the female version of the not-nice-one Terminator.

This time I paid attention to the trek down to the bottom of the house. Off the main foyer, we went along one of the main hallways until it ditched off into a spiral staircase. Around and around we went until the walls became concrete-like. Pipes littered the ceiling and gauges pocketed the corners. Though I had never been on one, this place reminded me of a submarine.

He led me down a thin concrete hall, and a door stood at the far end. It was empty and something told me not everyone here knew about this door or, more or less, it wasn't open to the public. He knocked twice paused and knocked again. There was a soft whoosing sound and Xander barreled through, barely leaving me enough room to squeeze in after.

The room was dimly lit but I could tell it was very small. In the dark, I could make out a table and some hanging lights. Beyond that, shadows moved and I realized it was a mirror. Xander was nowhere insight. The lights snapped on and I glared into the bright light. The table had two chairs sitting across from each other and had they been made of metal, I might have suspected something.

Buffy entered into the room from a door that I hadn't seen before. She gave a small smile, before gesturing to one of the chairs. I didn't return the expression as I sat down.

"Hey, so, um, how's training?" She asked and sat down as well.

"Fantastic. Except for the whole me beating your friend to a bloody pulp." I sneered, crossing my arms. "It's been great. Thanks for asking."

Her lips pulled into a pucker as she glared back at me. She finally looked away. "Look, I know this seems kind of weird—"

"Oh really?" I laughed harshly. "Being shoved into a dark interrogation room that would make Jack Bauer shake like a little girl, that's not weird at all! But if we are going to have a game of State the Obvious, I'll just go."

I leaned back, but she reached out and I frowned again.

"Look, we're just here to help."

I gave her my skeptic face.

"You haven't been given the easy free ride in life, we know that. And now with the Slayer thing, it can seem bad, really bad. But it doesn't have to be." Buffy had dropped the bad-cop façade and was now reasoning with me, trying to put us onto equal ground. Like we would ever reach there.

"So you only just got into the gig and we haven't picked up anybody in a while so, in all fairness to you, you can't just pick up with the rest of them."

I shrugged. "So what does that mean for me, besides being second-class?"

"God, you're not—" Buffy began, and stopped. She closed her eyes, and opened them slowly, her patience fraying quickly. "The gist of this is you're going to take some extra training. With a private tutor." She added quietly.

Pissing her off would be fun. "A private tutor?" I asked, incredulously. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Means that after your morning classes, you're going to come down to a back room and he'll train you."

"He?"

Even if I didn't know she thought I was a short fuse, it was obvious she didn't like this.

"Yes. He. Spike. That guy—"

"I shot? But look at that, he didn't die. Why? Because, oh right, vampire!"

"Stop! Ok! Stop complaining!" She barked. "He's one of the best fighters I have ever met and he's going to train you, teach you the basics of fighting. But yeah, ok, he's dangerous but that was along time ago. He would never hurt anyone any more, because of his soul. A soul he almost died to get. He risked everything to be a better man and its time someone around here showed him the respect he deserved!"

She ended, standing and panting, with a string of hair hanging in her face. She tucked the hair back behind her ear and straightened her shoulders. I watched her with an eyebrow raised.

"Got it?" She asked.

"Perfectly." I grinned maliciously.

So there was some history going on here. Dating history perhaps? A bloody history? Either way, this would be fun.

"So what's next, Sergeant?" I asked in mock-seriousness. I stood up, and clapped my heels together, my hand raising up in a salute. "Off to the bunkers for me?"

"No, we thought we could do your first lesson with Spike right now." Buffy said and crossed her arms, her stance immediately changing to one of superiority. "Is that alright with you?"

"Yep, all fine here." I said and stretched. I recognized a small waver of uncertainty pass through me. "So when do I get to meet the big guy?"

Xander appeared from the door Buffy had. "All settled?"

"Yeah, we're done."

He nodded and was about to leave when Buffy called us back.

"Reid, no matter what your Slayer sense tells you," Buff said, her eyes glittering fiercely. "Spike is, in no way, to be staked, beheaded or in anyway killed. Alright?"

My eyebrow twitched up again, and I nodded. "Whatever you say, Mrs. Boss."

I followed Xander out the door, throwing Buffy a peace sign over my head. He walked quickly, knowing I would keep up. We went back through the small hallway and when I looked over my shoulder, the door to the dark room was gone. There was only a tremor of surprise. He led me down another concrete hall, to another room I was sure the general population didn't know about.

"This is Buffy's private training room. She thought it'd be better if, you know—"

"No one noticed I was gone?"

I frowned, a strange feeling settling in my stomach. He was a vampire. This guy, Spike, was living dead. Dracula-type and from what it sounds like, twice as dangerous. I thought back to the day in the hospital ward, trying to pull a face to the name. Light hair, neon light, right? And blue eyes, frightening eyes. Eyes that swallowed you up and tossed you out, covered in blood and broken. No, that wasn't from that day. The memory of eyes that killed came from the night I murdered him. Or thought I did.

"Xander—"

"Mr. Harris," he said icily.

"Mr. Harris," I growled. "What's this Spike like?"

"A murder, a cradle-robber, a torturer, and an almost rapist." This time he couldn't help but grin. Xander's hand on the doorknob twisted and the lock clicked back. The door swung in and Xander led the way in with a sweep of his arms. "Good luck."

I stepped in the room, turning immediately to ask him something else, anything else so I wouldn't have to face what lay in the rest of the room. But Xander was gone, the metal door blank and uncaring as his face.

"So . . ." The British musical note floated around the room, making me cringe. "Shall we move on or are you going to stare at the door some more?"

I turned and the face came rushing back to me. He stood, clad in black from head to foot and smoking. Literally. A burning cigarette faintly emitted smoke from between his two pale fingers and he brought the short end to his lips, curved them around the paper and sucked in. He let out a breath a moment later, grey smoke rushing from his sharp nose. He then tossed the still burning cigarette and crushed out the light with his heel. He stretched his black-cotton covered arms and looked me head on, a feeling of an overpowering freight train barreling down my throat becoming almost unbearable.

Shit.

*A/N- Hey guys. First of all, no I'm not dead, didn't fall off the face of the Earth, or - worst of all - becoming a Buffy-Hater. School has literally been kicking my ass for . . . ever, BUT school's almost over and I'm doing only about two finals, so maybe this will give me some time to write. To be quite honest, I have a good couple more chapters to post before running out of new material, but it's still very raw. So, I'm working on it- I really am. So DON'T LEAVE!

I wasn't going to look at this until the summer again, but I got a VERY sweet email from Blue Talith and I'm going to be (trying) checking these more often. So if any of you guys know this dude(ette), give them props for calling the author out into the open. Thank you! I'll try and post another chapter tonight because I feel so bad :C As always, reviews feed the cookie monster!