"Wils, your hair looks freaky-deaky."
Willow Rosenberg didn't open her eyes at this remark. Instead, she just smiled, keeping her eyelids closed while she stood in her green maternity dress, with one hand caressing her gravid belly in its eighth month. Laughter bubbled in her mind and she joyously used the surge of emotion to begin casting her spell. No one else in the entire world, save those with her, would dare say such a thing to the Red Witch. Family, however, was allowed anything.
As she gathered her power, Willow perceived all that was around her through far more senses than sight, including those never thought possible by humans without magic. She was aware of everything in existence at her position on the new shoreline of Lake Sunnydale at the far side from the scenic overlook miles away. The woman stood a few hundred feet away from the water itself, separated by flat ground that was mostly bare, with a few small boulders and rocks and occasional patches of chaparral stretching away around her.
Even for the witch, there were limits. However, as near as she could determine, this piece of ground was the closest place where it was possible to stay on dry land and be in the general area of the location of the suburban Sunnydale house that once had the address of 1630 Revello Drive.
Sorrow and firm resolve passed over Willow's face, and she added these emotions to the foundation of her spell.
Continuing her magical work, the witch kept rubbing her lower body, where her child was waiting. To bring her daughter into a world without….it, that was worth the gamble. She took a deep breath and went on with the ceremony, humor raising the corners of her mouth as a breeze passed over the back of her neck. Ordinarily, her auburn hair would have shielded that part of her body from chills, but the stupendous magical efforts she was carefully crafting required her to take power not just from the entire world, but from….elsewhere at this exact time. It did result in some rather unusual side-effects.
Above her, the full moon shone brightly, benignly unconcerned of its effects on the planet it orbited, including its reflected light, the daily tides, and the fact that every strand of hair on the head of Willow Rosenberg was now extended straight up in the air towards this sphere.
Willow had no problem whatsoever imagining how ridiculous she looked, and she didn't mind the slightest. She quivered in repressed amusement, again pouring that emotion into her work. Yes, use it all, that which we are going to combat has no defense against humor. My family can certainly contribute their share, noted Willow in her mind, listening to her loved ones talk among themselves, as the redhead hadn't specifically requested them to be silent during the spellcasting for now.
"Do you think he's gonna have a fatal geekasm?"
"Is that even a word, Xander? Or are you just being hopeful about Andrew?"
"Dawn, I still think I could have used it in our last game of Scrabble until the G-man shot it down. Party-pooper."
"Xander, It wasn't in the Oxford English Dictionary, so I don't care how much you pouted, it still couldn't be used. Besides, when I went to get another cup of tea, it was strange how my tiles had shifted when I came back to show TIGHTAS."
"You can't prove anything, master of tweed."
"Giles, did you really have to pull all those strings? If you could do all that, why can't my shoe allowance be increased?"
"The influence of the International Watchers' Council is not to be used to allow you to collect every piece of footwear in the world, Buffy, but to protect our world from those who would do harm to it. When someone manages to accomplish this by their efforts or suggestions, it is only proper to reward them for this. I will say that Andrew's request for his specific desire was rather….difficult….to accomplish."
"Wow, G-man, four spaces on each side of 'difficult.' C'mon, break down for once from your British reserve and say what you really think."
"Yeah, Giles, let it all out."
"Buffy's right, Giles. It's just us gals and guys here, so you can let it loose."
"DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING HARD IT WAS TO GET GEORGE LUCAS TO AGREE TO LET ANDREW STAY AT SKYWALKER RANCH FOR A WEEKEND, AND ALSO TO GET HARRISON FORD, MARK HAMILL, CARRIE FISHER, BILLY DEE WILLIAMS, JAMES EARL JONES, NATALIE PORTMAN, EWAN MCGREGOR, HAYDEN CHRISTENSEN, JIMMY SMITS, AND FRANK OZ TO VISIT THERE?! I HAD TO CALL IN EVERY GODDAMN FAVOR THE WATCHERS HAD OWING FOR THE LAST TWENTY YEARS!"
"Ooookay, Buffy, Dawn, gather around and let's look at the bet sheet. Lessee, Dawn wins for having him say only two and under obscenities --- that's twenty bucks. Buffy wins forty for him ranting it all in one breath, guy's been around Willow too long. Lady W herself wins the big moolah --- an even c-note --- for him starting to foam at the mouth. Me, I got zilch, not even him pretending to strangle Andrew."
"Money, money, money!"
"Nobody likes gloating Summers sisters, so both of you quit doing the bump dance."
"Bloody pillocks, all of you."
With her eyes still closed, Willow suppressed the impulse to explode with laughter, taking all of her delight and using it to finish the spell, with a joyous flourish. It was time.
The Red Witch lifted up her arms horizontally to her shoulders, with open hands, waiting. She heard her family fall silent and approach her. There was no need to look, even with her mystic vision. Nearly a decade in the Scooby Gang's company meant she could sense everybody there by their auras and aspects of them all.
The Protector of Man, White Knight, her Brother, stepped to her left side, taking her hand in his large calloused right hand that swallowed up her own. His warm flesh was as familiar as his beloved face, and in their clasp, she felt a small cylinder that was gently pointed at one end. Willow knew without looking that she was holding a yellow crayon.
The Sage, Ripper, her Father, came up behind her, as allowed for those totally trusted, and laid his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs gently stroking the back of her neck in paternal affection. She drew in a breath through her nose, smelling maleness, tweed, and tea.
The Key, Brat, her Sister, gently held her right hand as both the youngest and the oldest of them there took her place at Willow's right side. A left hand grasped hers, the size of her own and as woman-soft, created out of energy yet imbued with love freely given, unexpected by all and welcomed into family. Again, Willow felt in her clasp an object, a circular band that she knew was Joyce Summers' wedding ring.
The Slayer, Thrice-Born, her Sister, stepped in front of her, and as Willow finally opened her eyes, Buffy extended her hands to cup the redhead's face in gentle fondness. The two women stared each other in the eye, and then tears trickled down Willow's cheeks to touch Buffy's fingers. The diminutive blonde then let go of Willow's face, bringing her hands to her own features, and kissed the moisture on her fingers.
Buffy then smiled directly at Willow, and turned, her back straight, as she walked toward the shoreline of Lake Sunnydale. The witch and the others watched the woman stride away, once again on her way to confront the forces of evil.
To be more precise, an evil.
The First Evil.
Her face and thoughts calm as she headed to battle against the ultimate Big Bad at a steady walk, the only thing odd about Buffy's demeanor was the regularity of her stride, as if she were marching. Or dancing, in time with a specific beat. Her heartbeat.
And not just hers. In time with the heartbeats of them all. Every one of the two thousand, eight hundred and thirty-six Slayers surrounding the entire lake. All of those who had promptly volunteered for whatever would come when they received the simple message, "The Scooby Gang needs you."
Buffy Summers was the proudest she had ever been in her life, knowing her sisters were standing in pairs together around the shoreline, allowing themselves to be used as bait for a being that hated them just as much as it did the five survivors of Sunnydale. The cold logic was that the First Evil would never pass up the chance to leave its sulking exile to return to the place of its defeat, hoping to finally have its revenge in wiping out those victorious against it years ago.
The blonde's exultation reached deep into her very soul, into her Slayer essence and the worldspell that linked her with every Slayer created by that mystical power, both past and present, and without knowing it, she triggered from her psyche a stupendous burst of immaterial predator ferocity that swept unseen away from the warrior woman. Unseen, but not unfelt, throughout the entire planet.
Felt by every one of the Slayers around the lake.
Felt by the Scooby Gang, three of which had once been part of a Slayer, and one who was made from a Slayer.
Felt by friends, enemies, and neutrals of those who were human, demon, and other, all existing on the globe. Most of which dove for cover, knowing something big was going to happen.
Felt by the thin line of Slayers around the Hellmouths of the world, who promptly massacred those particularly stupid demons who had thought this was their chance to make trouble while the numbers of the guardians against the dark were dwindled and distracted by whatever was going to take place.
On the contrary, most of the Slayers there were cursing their luck at losing the draw and having to keep watch over the planet's dimension nexi while their sisters were going to have all the fun. The left-behind Slayers took out all of their bad tempers most thoroughly on their foes, terminating with extreme prejudice into very small bloody chunks any unearthly monster which had the bad luck to be around them at that point in time.
Felt by two women in the nursery deep inside a Scottish castle.
Rona drew her short sword from its scabbard, the quiet whisper of the blade coming out not disturbing at all her year-old son sleeping peacefully in his crib, and the woman grinned across the room as she stood by her child.
Faith Harris grinned back, as she twirled her silver-inlaid pair of khukris that had been a birthday gift from Xander when he had heard her commenting, "That Milla Jovovitch kicks ass." Standing between two babies' beds, the Slayer swept her blades over the pair of cribs containing her small, awake twins.
Linda and Jesse Harris were resting quietly on their backs, but their eyes followed the glitter of the weapons in their mother's hands, and their infant faces relaxed as they heard the center of their world croon in the same tone she sang them lullabies.
"Time to Slay."
Far away, Buffy was in the exact same savage mood as all of her sisters, and reaching the shoreline, she stopped, looked across the lake that covered her former home, took a deep breath, and uttered at the top of her lungs the invocation that would certainly summon the First Evil, the most dangerous, hateful, vicious, abominable, and prideful of their enemies.
"HEEEEERE, FIRSTIE, FIRSTIE, FIRSTIE! HEEEEERE, BOY! OOOOOOOOO'S AN ITSY-BITSY FIRSTIE?!"
