Back at the hotel, Val took her shoes off and sank, exhausted, into a heavily stuffed arm chair. She was so tense. This whole trip had been a nightmare. She was seriously considering leaving the Council for good.

It was an idea that had occurred to her more than once over the last few years. She knew that her parents would be outraged. All that time she'd spent trying to convince them that {the} her calling was with the Council would have been wasted. The truth was, she just wasn't cut out for this kind of work. There was too much injustice.

The whole notion of a Slayer was unfair to start with. When she'd been fourteen Val had been informed that she was a Slayer candidate. She'd begun having the dreams when she was twelve. Her parents, growing concerned about her increasing insomnia and paranoia, had taken her to see a psychologist. The doctor had probed her about these dreams, and rather than trying to find out what was bothering the girl so much, sent her to the Council instead.

There'd been a formal hearing, during which she'd described her dreams to them. One dream in particular had stood out. The most fearsome, the most gruesome.

Val stood in an empty warehouse, facing woman with dark brown hair. Though beautiful, the woman was too thin. Her dress hung off her emaciated frame and her enormous, glassy eyes were wild. The woman and the girl were walking in wide circles, facing off. Suddenly, the woman's face changed. Her forehead crumpled in on itself, forming long ridges and lumps on her brow. Her mouth widened and filled with sharp, misshapen teeth. She smiled and launched herself at Val.

Val didn't gasp. In the dream, this felt normal. They fought. Val, who had had never trained in any sort of fighting, was stunned at her own speed and agility. Something in the back of her mind suggested that Val herself was only occupying another girl's body for the dream.

Then, the woman stopped fighting. Confused, Val fell back. She stared as she fell back. The woman was murmuring to herself. It sounded like gibberish. The woman stared intently into Val's eyes. The unnervingly pale eyes were mesmerizing. Unable to break the gaze, Val heard footsteps in the room around her.

She could not see the woman who'd arrived, but she could hear two distinct voices now.

The first woman was smiling now. "Look at what I've caught us for dinner. She's fresh and tender. She needs some flowers for her hair. To make a proper party." Her slow voice slipped and slid over Val's skin like mercury.

"Oh sweetie, you shouldn't have. She'll make a wonderful hors d'oeuvre. She's too small for a meal, though." The second woman's voice was as different from the first as caramel to peppermint. Where the first had been low, hers was high.

"Oh no. She's not small at all. She's large and full of light. She glows like a beacon." The woman reached down and pulled one of Val's hands to her face. Trailing the girl's fingers over her brow, the woman nipped at Val's fingertips. She picked up the other hand and tied the two together with thin metal wire. Val could feel the circulation being cut off from her hands, but she was unable to move.

She knew that if she could break free from the dark haired woman's gaze, she could free herself. But it was if her whole body had been submerged in thick gelatin. She could feel her mind becoming foggy. Soon it would be too late.

"Don't you see what I've caught us, Grandmother? She's very lovely."

"Yes, she's pretty enough. But hardly special." The other woman, Val could see that she was blonde, was peering too at Val's face now. "She's got a spark.I see it, but what is it?"

"It's the Slayer, Grandmother. She belongs to me. I'll feed her every day and take her for walks in the park. We'll make teacups out of ice and play Old Maid all night long. Would you like to play too?"

"The Slayer? Are you certain? She's much tamer than I thought she'd be."

"She likes me. I'm like her mummy. I can make her do anything I like. And I do so love figs."

"Angelus will be very impressed."

"She's not for Angelus, Grandmother. She's for us. Angelus will only take her thoughts from her and make her insides dim. I like her better this way. Play a game with us, Grandmother."

"A game?" The blonde woman came closer to Val's face. She turned and threw her long cloak over the banister behind Val. Pulling both ends tight, she drew Val's arms high above her head. She tied to cloak to the metal wire and smiled.

"She's ready, my darling. Where will we start? Is she going to wake up any time soon?"

"Oh no. She can barely move. Her soul is already mine. Lost, lost, lost, little Alice got lost in the looking glass. The Jabberwocky is after you."

Val knew it was true. Something inside her had dissipated while she'd been under the dark woman's spell. She knew that the other girl's spirit had left her body already. Val had no power over this body. She could only watch.

"We must start from the top and work our way down. Look how her hair shines in the light. Like a thousand twinkling stars. But don't tell Angelus. He'll be awfully cross. Do you promise?"

"It'll be our little secret, Dru." Darla smiled and ran her fingers through Val's hair. It was thick and pale. Val was aware that her own, real hair was very different. The consciousness that had shared her mind at the start of the dream was gone.

That was when the dream became dimmer. Some nights, the women played with her for hours and hours. Other times it was only minutes. She was always stripped naked.

Some nights they'd draw their teeth along her flesh, cutting ditches into her skin. Her blood would drip onto the floor and they would lick it from her heaving sides. Eventually, she would feel the body die around her.

Other nights, they would each take a nipple into their mouths and bite down simultaneously. The sound of tearing flesh. They would suckle at her bleeding breast until she lost consciousness.

Occasionally, they would lose interest with her entirely. They would draw a little blood and drink it from each other's mouth. Eventually, they would get so lost in their private passion that Val would begin to think she might survive. Then, she would move or make some sound and one of the women would get up and kill her quickly so they could continue without distraction.

Val had always been under the impression that a person couldn't feel pain in her dreams. The pain in these dreams had been real. After a particularly brutal night, she would wake up with gashes in her side. The Council was most interested in these. No Slayer candidate had ever had dreams that extended into the physical world.

Nor had a Slayer candidate dreamt alternate endings to a documented event. Val had, unknowingly, become their most precious project. She was a complete enigma to them.

For a time, they suspected her of being the next Slayer. In fact, several members of the Council had suggested that she might be some kind of Super- Slayer. Quentin Travers had been one of those Council members.

Back then, he'd been younger, but no less ruthless than he was now. He'd taken a special interest in Val and she'd always known that he was setting himself up to be her Watcher when she was inevitably chosen. They were all certain that she would be. They said she had extraordinary talents.

Talent. Hah. Talents were being able to play the cello or being good at soccer. What talent was there in a thirteen-year-old girl who had vivid, chronic nightmares?



Then the current Slayer had been killed. Val, then fifteen, was placed under constant surveillance. After seven days of constant prodding, poking, and beating at the hands of Travers himself, they'd discovered a girl in New York who had taken to lurking in alleys and rescuing people from random muggings by throwing their assailants over her head. She didn't fight vampires yet, but she would be trained.

Val had been all but abandoned. Returned to her enraged parents, the information collected by the Council about her dreams had been filed. She was of little use to them after that. Travers, embittered and furious, turned in on himself for several years, frustrated that he had been wrong. He'd spent so long cultivating a relationship with this girl, setting himself up to be the logical choice for her Watcher when the time came. In the end, his attentions were wasted just because she hadn't had the sense to be Chosen.

For several years, Val had tried to forget about her experiences with the Council, but the dreams didn't disappear. She would carry the nightmares with her for years. Her parents, afraid to send her to another psychologist, cut their losses and tried to make it up to her by buying her expensive presents and vacations.

When she was eighteen, Val returned to the council. This time, not as a Slayer candidate, but as a supplicant. She begged them to let her become protégé to one of the Watchers. The nightmares were still plaguing her and the Council was the only place where she'd been able to openly admit to their power over her. It was as if they'd been driving her here. She thought that if she could learn more about the world of demons and vampires she might be able to vanquish the dreams once and for all.

Instead, she'd come only to realize how truly inexplicable her situation was. No one had ever documented dreams like hers. No one had ever come any closer to explanations about her either, in the years of her absence. In fact, no one had tried. Travers had given up completely on her case. No one else dared to take it on. So that was it. Her dreams were a mystery. She didn't know why she had them or what they meant.

But, there she was, an eighteen-year-old with intimate knowledge of the power of the supernatural. She learned avidly throughout the next few years, consuming knowledge like water. There had always been the hope in the back of her mind that she might see something that the others had missed. Something to explain her.

There had been nothing so far. Val was beginning to fear that there never would. As it turned out, though, her avid research had proved to be invaluable to the Council. With her knack for remembering obscure facts, she was perfect Watcher material. They'd trained her and cosseted her and at the age of twenty-three, she'd emerged as a full member of the Council, the youngest in their long and complicated history.

A twenty-three year old female Watcher, she was the object of much bitterness among many of the other aspiring Watchers. She'd had to prove herself time and time again. No one could seem to believe that this thin wisp of a woman could possibly make a decent Watcher.

Of course, she knew that it was highly unlikely that she would ever have the opportunity to actually act as a Watcher to a Slayer. She was secretly glad of that. It was hard to see these girls, used up before their time, fighting a war that could never be won against monsters and other horrors that never backed down.

Val had never been able to decide whether or not Travers had been on her side or against her. He resented her for what he felt had ruined his career. She hadn't lived up to his expectations and he hated her for it. On the other hand, he was always recommending her for tough assignments such as this one, that would only serve to make her appear stronger in the eyes of the Council.

Perhaps he was only trying to get her killed. Sending her to deal with the most dangerous threats that the Council faced was a wise way to go about it.

And now this. Everyone on the team was confused and shaken by the rape of a Slayer. Well, Quentin never seemed shaken. But it was a rare occurrence. Actually, Val was almost certain that it had never happened before. A Slayer couldn't be raped. It seemed beyond anything they'd ever imagined.

These powerful girls, who could, and had, averted apocalypses were supposed to be taken down by something much bigger than a man with a hard-on. To be fair, Val was fairly sure that whoever had done it had been a vampire, not a man, but that seemed irrelevant right now.

The thing that bothered her the most was the fact that Faith had not been able to fight him off. There was no reason for it. Why had she allowed this to happen? Val knew what it was like to powerless in a similar situation, but what exactly had happened to Faith?

She knew that the council would brush this under the rug like so many other things. It made them look negligent. Among other things. They'd been trying to kill this girl. Someone else had done it for them. Case closed. Mission accomplished.

There was a knock on the door of the hotel room. Val groaned and heaved herself from the chair.

It was Travers. She was surprised. He rarely talked to her when he didn't have to.

"Quentin. Come in. What is it?"

Travers' brow tightened when she called him by name. Val had long ago learned to appreciate his facial expressions. She took secret delight in making him squirm. He'd not become a Watcher until he was 35. That was about average. It marked him as average. He despised what the Council referred to as "Val's genius."

"The new Slayer. Her name is Bethany Smith. She lives in Oregon and she's sixteen years old. Montrose claims that she's a potentially difficult charge."

"Montrose is awfully new to be taking responsibility for her. Shouldn't someone a little more.er.weathered be around?"

"Yes. My thoughts exactly. Unfortunately, Bethany is rather.how do I put this?"

"Bluntness can be a great virtue, Quentin. For God's sake, just spit it out."

"She doesn't like men. She's resisting every one of Montrose's attempts to get close to her. There's a history, but it's complicated. She refuses to trust him even a little. She's very volatile and we can't afford another uncontrollable Slayer."

"What I'm proposing is that she become your charge. You're very young but."

She was no younger than Quentin had been when he'd been coveting an active Watching position in her life. That didn't matter, though. Quentin always regarded her as an unruly little girl. Too late to change that.

"I think that your loyalty to the Council is enough to convince the others that you're more than capable. Of course, this is not entirely up to me. There will be a formal meeting in the next few days back at the college, but I doubt that anyone could think of anyone more qualified."

Val knew that qualified meant nothing more than biologically suited. She was the only woman within the Council right now who had the seniority and skills to become an Active Watcher. And now here was Quentin bestowing upon her the greatest of honours available to him. And just moments ago, Val had been grateful that she'd never be required to live up to those honours.

Then again, Val was also well aware that this girl was important to the Council. They would do anything to make sure that she did nothing inappropriate. Val felt a pang of sympathy for this Bethany. After all, she was very young. The girl had an undesirable path ahead of her.

Quentin was looking at her. Val knew he had come to her before any of the others because he wanted to make certain that she'd be on board before he presented his idea formally.

Looking back, she was never sure why she did it. Perhaps she wanted to get back at them for controlling so much of her own life or perhaps she just wanted to believe that Quentin had truly seen something valuable in her. Whatever the reason, she nodded.

"Thank you, Quentin. It's a wonderful opportunity. I'm honoured."

Quentin looked up, vaguely surprised that it had been so easy to convince her. He smiled, though. Finally his name might be cleared. Back at the Council they would thank their lucky stars that Travers had been brilliant enough to find this bright young thing who filled their need so precisely.

"Good luck, Valerie. You'll meet her in the morning."

***





Spike emerged from his hiding place at sunset. In their haste and shock, the Council team had failed to notice his black leather coat on the floor behind a bookshelf.

He'd watched the day unfold, tensed for a fight. He had known, however, that the Council would be well armed and he'd have little chance against them. He'd found himself wishing, a little, that they'd just have done with it and stake him already.

Back at his crypt, Spike was relieved to find a jar of blood still in the fridge. It tasted stale and a little off, but not bad enough to really bother him. He drank it and tried not to think of Faith.

Something of huge importance had happened, but he wasn't sure what it was. Was it that he'd killed a Slayer? He thought not. He'd done it before. There was something else.

Unable to harm a living creature without intense neurological pain. The line that separated demons from humans was blurred. He was little more than a man with big teeth. Faith had not been dinner. She'd not been his prey, she'd been a young woman with limits similar to his. It hurt to kill. They were the same, really. Her pain was organic, his was not. What did it matter? The source and the effect were the same.

He needed to get out of Sunnydale. He suddenly felt like his old self. Not his cocky, vampire self. His really old self. He was William the Unsure once more. William the Pathetic. He had been beneath her, after all. Cecily, that is. He'd been so stupid. He'd given up his life for a moment of acceptance from some crazy bitch who'd cornered him in an alley.

Drusilla had seen into him for a moment. She'd seen the insecurities lurking within and she'd taken advantage of them. More than a century later, he was finally ready to let her go. The old William had deserved more than her.

Spike realised, suddenly, a facet of the true nature of vampires. They were more than just predators. Their power was in their ability to look down on humans. Use them. Kill them. Consume their flesh and lives like air. Conscience and ethics depended upon one's own powerlessness.

Humans -vulnerable, and mortal -needed something to hold them together at the seams. It was no wonder that they'd developed a sense of morality. Morality was just a fancy way of saving one's own ass. The Golden Rule. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. A ridiculous balance of trust and sympathy. Necessary to survive. Without it, what else was there but madness?

In a moment of clarity, Spike began to pick up his most valuable possessions. He would leave, after all. It didn't matter where he went, now that he knew the rules. He had a system for survival. He felt surprisingly good.

"And, has thou slain the Jabberwock?

  Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'

  He chortled in his joy.

-Lewis Carroll, Jabberwocky

***



Val stood behind the rest of the team. She may have done it out of sense of drama. If she was to be this girl's Watcher, she should be presented by Travers with all the hoopla and pomp at his disposal.

The girl looked every bit of her sixteen years. She had spiky black hair and ridiculous striped stockings on. Her clothes made her look like something between a circus performer and a rock star. Well, perhaps rock stars and circus performers didn't look that different at all. But the girl was definitely strange.

Val found herself sweating a little. She hated to admit it, but she was terribly nervous. If she didn't get along with this girl, where would she be? She'd be nothing. Disillusioned with the Council, she'd probably return to England and settle for some mediocre job that she hated only slightly less violently than this one.

Val tugged at her suit, suddenly self-conscious of the conservatism of her outfit. She'd always thought that to make a good impression, one should err on the side of the majority. Now, she felt like a stuffy old bag, who was highly unlikely to win this girl's confidence.

Quentin was speaking now.

"Bethany.or is it Beth? Let me tell you formally how glad we are to have found you."

"Doesn't matter." Her voice was sulky and Val couldn't tell which of Quentin's phrases she was referring to. Used to this sort of thing, Quentin plowed on.

"You're a very special girl, you know. You have extraordinary talents."

"It's not talent, my body's been taken over by a supernatural force. I can't even stop it."

Val frowned. This girl had thought the situation through. She was smart. Thank God for small mercies.

"Nevertheless, you're a Force of Good now. You must celebrate your new- found strength. As a Slayer, you've been given a powerful gift. You must learn to use it well."

"You'd call it a gift? What utter bullshit. It's not a gift, it's a death sentence. Get over yourself. Please. Christmas morning. I get up and look under the tree, and Oh! Look! It's a big ole' box of DEAD BETHANY. Just what I've always wanted.

"Look, Quentin. Can I call you Quentin? I hate to burst your little bubble, but this is not exactly the job of my dreams. I'll do it because I'm the only one who can, but I refuse to grovel and scrape because I've been 'blessed with the power to fight the good fight.'"

Quentin paused, a little put out by this girl's lack of gratitude. Val, on the other hand was trying to keep from grinning. Since Quentin seemed finished talking, Val stepped forward.

"My name is Valerie West and I'm your Watcher. I'd like to point out that Mr. Travers is a very powerful man and you'd best stay on his good side. He can be very petty at times and you wouldn't want to risk his anger."

Bethany cocked her head, eyebrows raised. "Of course." The girl was suddenly diminutive. The team looked relieved and Val was shocked to see none of them realised that this girl was goading them. She was teasing Quentin, pushing his buttons. Val seemed to be only one who noticed.

Val stifled a smile. "You'll be under my charge, from now on. I'm sure you're aware of how delicate a situation this is. How many people know about your powers?"

"No one. I'm not exactly the friendly type and my parents are dead."

Quentin looked pleased. An anti-social Slayer with no familial ties was just what they needed right now. He would be glad to get back to England and tell the Council. He would look very, very good at the end of the day.