Chapter 29

The Case of The Pricked Thumb

(Aka Halloween Special)

Faith is getting better each day, the color has returned to her cheeks and the bruising under her eye has all but gone, and thanks to my efforts (not to brag) but she is losing some of that skeletal look.

But she is still weak. By Slayer standards she is wrecked. It reminds me of the time we all like to forget when Giles performed that awful cruciamentum on Buffy. The first days when Buffy acted confused and angry at herself, before she opened up about her loss of strength. Faith bumps into door frames and glides into walls, and she has bouts of dizziness that end in her drifting off into fitful sleeps which I cannot rouse her from.

Of course, since my propositioning up until yesterday morning she had fallen asleep in a (not to brag again) sexually satisfied, snuggly bundle, but as much as Marvin Gaye might have a damn good point about such things on the soul, sexual healing just isn't cutting it for my wounded little Slayer.

But that is all on hold right now too, as Faith is grumbling too about her period hurting like hell, clutching her belly and groaning that it is way worse than usual.

It's like The Slayer healing just isn't kicking in, or as if something is… I hate to admit it, but what if Faith is right about permanent damage?

Right now she is lost in another feverish sleep, having barely made it an hour after breakfast before the color suddenly drained out of her and she went to go nap.

I am trying to put things into perspective. She is stable and inching towards regular health, which is better than the opposite.

And in the plus column, the few hours I get with her between her need to sleep and my need to work has been some of the happiest hours of my life. If I can just bank them in my psyche as wins, hold onto those moments as gifts to cherish, then I may just get out of all this with some self esteem and a smile. Perhaps a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.


A few hours into my shift and I am actually grateful for how much skin my costume exposes. The AC in The Bronze is barely keeping up with all the body heat beating out of the packed crowd. I imagine the fire marshalls would have a fit, if any ever actually braved it. Maggie Mott tells me far too many have gone missing, and they clearly have gotten the message.

Still, what little I am wearing is sweaty and tight, and I can't help but notice the eyes on me, which sends me in a whirl of mixed feelings. Powerful and attractive on one side of that see saw, mortified and creeped out on the other. Still, there are no vamps that I can see other than the mortal teenagers daubed with white paint and chewing their straws through plastic teeth.

Sandy is a nun, Maggie is the Bride of Frankenstein and new guy Lance is showing his muscles off as a bare chested cowboy that gives me flashbacks of my time in Vegas. We shan't discuss the details; just let it go.

And despite the crush of the crowd, the heat, and my wrestling with my issues vis-a-vis costume, I am starting to enjoy myself. The music is kicking along and the mood is good, and I am swaying and tapping my foot as I go. The satisfied smile on my usually sour face? Well that's Faith's fault.

How much like Halloween my life is. Since meeting Buffy my life has been a whirl of witches, werewolves, ghouls, fish men, mummys, mantis ladys, evil clowns, hyena spirits, possessed puppets and of course, vampires. And yet, in among all the monsters and the horrors I have faced, here I am. Standing. And breathing, and laughing and dancing and… loving.

I know I am in love with Faith. I know that. And for once I am not swept up in some infantile, idealistic escape from my problems. Nor am I confusing attraction or lust for love. I adore the glimpses she has shown me of the real her, of both Faith and of the girl from which she sprang, of Abigail. We have a lot in common, but that isn't a connection that chains us, it is a language we share. It's the moments in the speaking that I find my love for her. The ways she makes me laugh, and cry, and gasp, and chuckle and think. I love Faith. I love having her around. And I will still love her wherever she is in the world.

All around me the room is filled with monsters, and inside I feel strong. My muscles are alive and my smile comes easy and naturally.

I love Faith and maybe, just maybe, I am starting to love Lexi too.


If this were a detective caper, it would have gone something like this: A drunken teen would have cut their thumb or waved a plastic weapon in the air, or something like that and I would have turned to my bumbling but well meaning assistant and exclaimed "that's it! The missing piece of the puzzle!" But it isn't like that. Instead, I am sucking on a slice of lime as I unload a steaming tray of glasses from the washer, hip bopping to Backstreet's Back.

But it hits me all the same, and in my mind the thought train makes these unscheduled stops:

The knife at Faith's apartment hadn't rusted.

The knife at Faith's apartment should have rusted.

The knife at Faith's apartment is probably supernatural.

Faith has a scar from where Buffy stabbed her with that knife.

Buffy doesn't usually scar, except when the wound is supernatural in origin.

The knife is supernatural in origin.

The knife was given to Faith by The Mayor.

The knife was given to Faith because he wanted her to kill Buffy.

Buffy is a Slayer.

Faith is…

Sandy looks at me wide eyed and startled as I grab her arms and shake her.

"That's it! The missing piece of the puzzle!"

I bestow a kiss on her forehead, toss my towel towards the sink and hop the bar. And then I am running just as fast as my invisible jet can carry me.