Chapter 2
Bzzzzt.
It was the first ring of the buzzer, alerting every inmate of the Fuller State Correctional Facility for Women that it was time to awaken to another day of incarceration.
Faith got up, put on her uniform, brushed her teeth and hair. Sonya, her best friend and cell mate, nudged past her at the sink, growling the growl of those who are not in their right minds before their first cup of coffee. Even if it's only bad prison coffee.
Sliiiiide. Ka-chunk. The sound of four hundred cell doors opening at once, filling the corridors with blue uniforms. They chattered and jostled their way towards the cafeteria like a herd of unruly cattle headed for the feeding trough.
There had once been a time when Faith thought the monotony of this life would kill her if her enemies, new or old, didn't do it first. But somehow, that hadn't happened at all. Instead, she'd found friends, and a Watcher, and a purpose -- helping prisoners who wanted to get their lives on track. The gang leaders and drug lords who had once ruled over every prisoner within Fuller's walls now had no choice but to share their dominion with Faith, Sonya, and their ever-growing band of followers. Of course, it helped that their efforts were secretly supported by prison Warden Julian Barnes. Barnes' large stature and friendly, open demeanor belied his capacity for subtlety and behind-the-scenes maneuvering. His manipulation of cell and work assignments had, no doubt, saved Faith and Sonya's lives on more than one occasion.
As Faith and Sonya fell into the river of inmates trudging towards the cafeteria, Faith felt another hand press into hers for a moment, then let go. Without looking, Faith could tell that the object was a match stick. In her gang's secret code of objects and symbols, a match stick meant that the warden, or one of the few other staff members who were in on the plan, had arranged a secret meeting with the recipient. Faith knew she should expect a one-day work reassignment -- for example, mopping the staff lounge.
Sure enough, the work roster that morning stated that Faith would spend the day cleaning the kitchen of the staff cafeteria. Oh boy, Faith thought, fun with grease traps. The one problem with this system of secret meetings was that you actually had to do the crappy jobs that served as cover. But there were worse things; some inmates had to do those kinds of jobs _every_ day.
She began to make her way to the guard station that protected the way between the inmate and staff areas of the prison, wondering what ol' Warden Barnes wanted.
-----
"I want to know what this is all about," Barnes said to Sarah Reynolds, Fuller's resident correctional psychologist. The warden was holding up a letter which he had pulled out of a Federal Express envelope a few minutes before.
"Faith is being transferred. I simply need your signature on the forms," Reynolds replied. She spoke with great precision, as always, in an accent generic enough that she could have acquired it in any number of metropolitan areas across the United States. Only the most skilled of linguists might have guessed that Sarah had been born in Leeds, England, and that her Americanized speech patterns were the result of a conscious effort on her part to avoid drawing attention to herself. It made her work as Faith's Watcher that much easier to carry out.
"I know you need my signature for a transfer," Barnes went on. "What I want to know is (a) why, and (b), why am I first hearing about it in a letter from the office of the Lieutenant Governor."
"I simply think that Faith would be better off in another institution."
"Again, I'm asking you for a reason." Anger was rising in Barnes' voice.
"She's...not making as solid a recovery as I'd hoped," Sarah said. "The pressure of being field marshal in your secret war is getting to her. She needs time away from all that, somewhere where every single gang leader and drug dealer doesn't know and hate her."
Barnes thought about that for a split second, then spoke. "That is _bullshit_ and you know it. Faith's doing better than she ever has. You don't think I read those reports you put on my desk? You don't think I keep an eye on her myself?" He stood up from his chair and put his hands on his desk; his huge frame leaned over Sarah like a steel crane.
"You know, my gut's always been pretty reliable, and ever since I met you, it's been telling me that you're keeping something back from me. I never pried, because you're my friend and I trust you. But this is the first time my gut has ever told me that you're lying to my face."
Instead of responding to Barnes' accusation, Sarah said, "I'm afraid there's one other letter you need to read." She handed him another page, on Fuller letterhead. The warden scanned it and then somehow managed to frown even more deeply than he had before.
"Your resignation."
"Yes. I'm sorry I couldn't give you more notice."
"Notice?" Barnes said, straightening up to his full height. "You think I'm bothered that you didn't give me enough NOTICE? Jesus Christ, Sarah! I can't begin to tell you how many parts of this bother me more than that you didn't give me notice. Like you going over my head to the state government, for starters."
"I didn't want to," Sarah replied as she got up from her chair, "but I knew you would argue, and I don't have the time. We need to leave today."
"We? As in you and Faith?" Barnes said. His eyes narrowed. "What is this? Are you two...are you involved in something? Some Federal thing, maybe?"
"I can't tell you."
"Goddamn it. If you and Faith leave now, everything we all have worked for could go straight down the john."
"You'll still have Sonya."
"Sonya's good, but...Faith has an edge. I don't really even know what it is, but it scares the bejesus out of the gang leaders. We couldn't have got this far without her." Then, looking straight at Sarah, he added, "Or you."
"You'll work it out," Sarah said. "You may put up a 'dumb jock' facade sometimes, but I know what kind of mind you have. You've lost a couple of pieces, that's all. I believe you'll still win the game."
"Fine. Whatever," Barnes said, his face suddenly stony. He bent down over his desk and signed the forms. Still looking down at his desktop, he held out the signed documents to Faith and said, "My secretary will make you a copy. Now get out."
Sarah took the papers and started towards the door.
"Wait," Julian said. Sarah turned; Barnes was looking at her.
"Whatever it is...good luck," Barnes said.
Sarah looked into his big brown eyes. "Thank you," she said softly.
-----
Sarah's dress shoes clicked rhythmically against the floor as the wiry, slightly owlish looking Watcher hurried to meet Faith in the staff cafeteria. She was not happy. Julian was her friend, and now she had to leave him in the lurch because of her Watcher duties. Not to mention that she might not ever see him again. Trying to distract herself from these thoughts, Sarah idly wondered how the Council had gotten to the state Lieutenant Governor. They'd had years to get their fingers into California politics, knowing the value of having influence in the state that held the town of Sunnydale. They might have used bribery, or blackmail, or maybe the letter was simply a clever forgery. It didn't really matter, of course. The end was the important thing now, not the means.
Sarah entered the cafeteria and went back through the doors to the kitchen, where Faith and a couple of other prisoners were mopping and scrubbing at shiny institutional tile and stainless steel as a guard watched over them.
"Faith," Sarah said. "Come with me, please."
The dark-haired young woman looked up at her from her position on the floor, where she was cleaning the front of an oven. There was a steadiness to Faith's gaze that no one, Sarah thought, might ever have seen before in the young Slayer's entire life. The Faith of today was a far cry from the girl who, vicious and frightened as a wounded animal, had walked through the prison gates almost a year and a half earlier. There was a degree of confidence in her eyes now, and, as Faith looked at Sarah, respect -- the sort of respect for others that is born of respect for one's self. Faith had come a long way, and Sarah felt pride in having played a part in that.
And she was grateful for every inch of that progress, because Faith was about to be tested as she never had been before.
Faith followed Sarah out into the hall and into her office. As soon as the door closed behind them, Sarah said, "Faith, we have to leave."
"Huh?" Faith said. "I'm supposed to meet with Mr. Barnes."
"No. Mr. Barnes summoned you because he wanted to talk about your transfer."
"What transfer? I don't want to go anywhere."
"Officially, you are being transferred from Fuller to another institution. Unofficially, you are exiting the prison system."
"Hold it -- you mean I'm escaping?"
"Essentially. Being broken out would be the more accurate phrase."
"Look, not that I don't miss beer and solo showers, but why now? And why am I thinking that we're not going to Aruba, or anywhere else the Beach Boys used to sing about before they died or whatever?"
"I'll thank you not to assume that the Beach Boys are dead merely because they are no longer as popular as, for example, 'N Sync."
"This is because of Buffy, isn't it? There wasn't another Slayer to replace her?"
"No, there wasn't. As far as the Council understands, Buffy has had her replacement; the line now goes through you."
"Which means I'm the only one left. Which means I have to take over...Oh, my God. Don't tell me we're going to Sunnydale."
"All right, I won't tell you. We'll just get in the car and go."
"Goddamn it."
"Quite. Now let's go to the guard station and get you ready for your 'transfer'."
"Wait, we're going now?"
"The Council advised me to get you out as quickly as possible before their ruse is discovered."
"What about my stuff? And I want to say goodbye to my friends. Sonya -- I can't just leave without saying something to Sonya."
"I'm sorry. There's no time for any of that. A state police car waiting for us outside right now."
"Well, he can leave the meter running, because I'm not leaving here without-"
"Faith," Sarah cut in, "this isn't personal. I'm not taking you out of here to punish you, or to reward you, or because I feel like it. Many people's lives may be at stake, and this is our -- your -- only opportunity to help them. And..."
"What?"
"Never mind. We need to go. Now."
Faith's fists clenched. She looked like she wanted to hit something, or throw something. Instead, she closed her eyes for almost ten seconds, and then opened them.
"Fine," she said, her voice tight. "Let's go."
-----
Rupert Giles was in Hell.
At least, that's what it felt like from the neck up. Any attempt to lift or turn his head just made the pain slide to the lowest point, like sand in a jug. The thought of sitting up made him want to vomit, something he was fairly certain he'd already done a few times in the last several hours.
He knew from experience that it was never good to drink alone. The day Buffy died, he'd been sorely tempted but fought off the urge, knowing that, if he started drinking then, he might never, ever stop.
But this time, the desire had crept up on him, striking when he hadn't expected it, and thus hadn't steeled himself against it. You're not really alone, he had thought in a state of demented sadness, if Jack Daniels and Jose Cuervo are there to keep you company.
Suddenly, Giles felt the sensation of a knife being driven sideways through his skull.
No, he realized, it's just the doorbell.
He seriously considered not answering it. It might be Xander, dropping by to annoy him on his day off. It might be a Jehovah's Witness. It might be a Girl Scout with cookies, which would be disastrous -- one look at a cookie and Giles would certainly toss his own.
But it could also be the person he was waiting for.
Giles looked at his bedside clock/radio. Was it eleven o'clock already? Thank Heaven it was Sunday, when he wouldn't have to open the Magic Box until noon.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Giles rose from the bed and pulled on the paisley robe that Buffy had once said made him look like Hugh Hefner. It wasn't as dignified as he might have liked, but there was no time to dress properly, and it was far better than coming to the front door in his boxers and an old concert T-shirt so worn that the young David Bowie pictured on the front now looked like the old David Bowie.
Giles shuffled downstairs to the front door and peered through the peephole. He saw a woman he didn't recognize. She didn't dress like a Jehovah's Witness, she was too old to be a Girl Scout, and she was too attractive to be Xander.
He opened the door, trying not to wince as the daylight struck his sensitive eyes. "Um, hello," he said.
"Hello," the woman answered, stretching out her hand. "I'm Sarah Reynolds. I believe you were expecting me?"
"Oh, yes, yes, do come in," Giles said, shaking the woman's hand. "Please forgive my appearance, I, ah, I was up late last night. And I wasn't expecting you so soon."
"The Council can act quite quickly when properly motivated," Sarah said as she stepped forward into the doorway, "and your report has alarmed them considerably."
Only then did Giles notice another figure standing behind Sarah.
"Hey," Faith said, barely looking up at Giles.
"Faith," Giles said. "How- how are you?"
"Good," Faith said awkwardly. "I'm good."
"Good," Giles repeated. "That's good. Um, come in."
Faith followed Sarah inside, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Glancing around, Faith saw that the place was less neat than it had been the last time she'd visited. It wasn't messy by any normal person's standards, but the few dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, the jacket and shirt thrown over the back of the couch, and most especially the empty tequila bottle on the coffee table all stuck out like sore thumbs in the otherwise hyper-orderly environment of Giles' apartment.
"Would- would either of you like something to drink?" Giles asked.
Faith's eyes flicked wishfully to the tequila bottle. "Just some water. Please," she said.
"For me, as well," Sarah added.
As Giles poured glasses of cool water from a Brita pitcher, Sarah said, "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Giles. Your CD-ROM versions of the Codex Diabolorum and Tobin's Spirit Guide have been invaluable to me since I became Faith's Watcher."
"Oh, well, thank you," Giles replied. "Though I really can't take a great deal of the credit. Willow -- a friend of Buffy Summers' -- scanned the text and created the, the user interface."
"Oh, well, please convey my thanks. And my condolences, of course, which I also extend to you."
Faith took a second to translate Sarah's three-dollar words and realized that Sarah was saying that she was sorry that Buffy was dead. I should say something too, Faith thought.
But what could she say? Was it even possible for her to say anything that would make Giles feel better and not worse? Would she just look like a hypocrite, saying she was sorry for the death of someone she herself had tried to kill a whole bunch of times?
In the end, Faith chose to say nothing.
"Thank you," Giles said to Sarah. "I...it's been hard on all of us."
Sarah glanced over at the empty liquor bottle. "I imagine so," she answered neutrally.
Giles looked up at her and Faith. "Well, I imagine we should go to the magic shop."
"For supplies?" Sarah asked. "You already have a plan in mind? I must say, I am impressed."
"Oh, ah, no," Giles responded clumsily. "I own the shop. It's usually where we -- that is, the other people who...used to help Buffy, and I -- meet when we make plans. We've been gathering there in the mornings when the shop opens."
"Ah, yes, Faith's told me a bit about them. Rather unusual, for a Slayer to have such a large group of supporters."
"Buffy's 'supporters' have helped her to save the world on half a dozen occasions," Giles said, a bit sharply.
"It was not my intention to criticize, Mr. Giles," Sarah responded evenly.
Giles let out a breath. "I'm sorry," Giles said. "The Council has always frowned upon my allowing Buffy's friends to help her. Or allowing Buffy to have friends at all, for that matter."
"The Council's attitudes have changed somewhat, of late," Sarah said. "Your Slayer lasted longer than most, and bested a great many deadly opponents. The Council may value tradition, but they also value results. Which is why they took your report so seriously."
Wow, Faith thought, not only is he a Watcher again, but they actually respect him now.
Life in prison had taught Faith a few things about respect. Her survival had often depended on it. A prisoner who liked you might turn against you for someone she liked better. A prisoner who feared you would happily betray you for someone stronger. But a prisoner who respected you was unlikely ever to sneak up behind you with a sharpened spoon handle.
Giles went upstairs to change. Faith and Sarah sat and sipped their water. Faith was silent. The reality of her situation was beginning to sink in -- she was going to be seeing Willow and Xander again. And she wasn't sure how she was going to handle it.
"It must be a bit unnerving, that you're about to see Buffy's friends again," Sarah said.
"I really hate it when you read my mind," Faith replied.
"No telepathy is required," Sarah said. "I simply know that, were I in your position, that's what I would worry about."
"They hate me," Faith said. "Which I could handle, if it weren't for the fact that I deserve it."
"You may have wronged them in the past," Sarah answered, "but if you are good to them now, they may see that you've changed."
"I don't know if they'll give me a chance," Faith said.
"Perhaps they won't. But you must give them a chance to give you a chance, if that makes any sense. Shutting people out before they can shut you out has cost you a lot, in the past."
"So basically you're telling me to make nice no matter what."
"It's not merely that. Remember our first rule of combat?"
"'You can't win by trying not to lose,'" Faith quoted.
"It's the same with friendships, Faith," Sarah said. "If your sole goal is to avoid being hurt, you end up with nothing."
"I don't think any of those people will ever be my friends," Faith replied, looking down.
"Perhaps not. But you may need them as allies, and that means that you cannot afford to alienate them."
Faith nodded and fell silent. She stared at the drops of condensation that traveled down the side of her water glass. Some went straight down, others twisted and turned. A few barely moved, while others rushed to the bottom in a split second.
Then Giles came downstairs, and the three of them got into his car and headed for town.
-----
As beginnings went, it wasn't the best.
They arrived at the shop to find the door open and the lights on, but no one in sight. Giles entered cautiously.
"Anya?" Giles called.
"Good morning!" Anya cried, springing up from behind the counter and causing Giles to nearly jump out of his skin. "I was just plugging in the register. I like to unplug it at night, before we leave, in case of lightning or a power surge or something." She looked lovingly down at the machine. "We can't have your little circuits getting fried, can we? Because then you couldn't count the money, which is the whole reason I like you." She patted the top of the register.
Giles dealt with Anya's peculiar behavior in his customary fashion -- he pretended he hadn't seen it. Waving Sarah and Faith into the shop, he said, "Anya, this is Sarah Reynolds, and this is Faith. I don't know if you've met, but-"
"Oh, yes, Faith," Anya said, looking at the Slayer. "Xander's told me a lot about you."
"Really?" Faith said.
"You took his virginity and then tried to kill him."
No one said a word.
"Did you know he used to be afraid to let me be on top during sex?" Anya went on. "That was your fault. So stay away from him. See this?"
Anya walked up to Faith and held up her fist. Faith thought Anya was threatening her until she noticed the modest diamond ring on Anya's finger.
"This ring grants me exclusive sexual and romantic access to Xander. For life!" Anya lowered her fist, breathing hard. "So don't get any ideas," she finished.
Before Anya could say anything else, Giles said, "Anya, I believe you should do our weekly inventory now."
For once, Anya didn't argue. She backed away from Faith, never taking her eyes off the Slayer until she bumped into the edge of the counter, then turned around and practically ran into the stockroom.
Faith was moderately horrified. She had expected to get a negative reception from Xander and Willow, but not from someone she'd only met once. And Faith had been in Buffy's body at the time.
"Anya," Giles said slowly, "tends to...speak her mind. I wouldn't worry, I'm sure she'll-"
"Hey Giles," came a shout from the door. Sarah and Faith turned around and saw Xander, who was carrying a white pastry box. "I brought some jelly doughn...holy Chihuahua."
Xander was looking at Faith.
"Hey," Faith said.
"Faith," Xander replied cautiously. "It's been...well, not that long, considering that you're supposed to be doing life."
"The Council has arranged for Faith's release," Sarah said. She walked over to Xander and extended her hand. "I am Sarah Reynolds, Faith's Watcher. You must be Xander."
Xander shook her hand like it might be a cobra with fingers, then looked over at Giles. "Uh, Big G," he said nervously, "you didn't say anything about another Watcher. "
"Don't call me that, and no, I didn't," Giles replied. "Did you expect Faith to come here unsupervised?"
"Well, no, but-"
"Giles!" came a shout from the doorway, drowning out the tinkling of the bells that hung on the door. It was Tara, who was breathing like a racehorse.
"Tara," Giles said. "You're shouting. Which, since I've never heard you do it before, I find deeply alarming."
"Turn on a radio," Tara said, "to the local news."
Anya, who had heard the commotion, came out from the back room with a battery-powered radio and switched it on.
"...found at about six-thirty this morning on the steps of City Hall. While no one saw the attack, the body has been taken away to the county coroner's office, but the Sunnydale Police have stated that it is likely that the victim was beheaded at the scene. The police have declined to comment, however, on the symbol that the joggers who found the body report was carved into the victim's forehead. Stay tuned to this station for further updates." The radio broadcast went to a commercial.
"It was a lady who was walking her dog," Tara said. "They must have just grabbed her and killed her right there."
"Good God, why?" Anya said. "I mean, I don't like dogs much either, but gosh."
"It's a message," said Giles. "She's telling the human government of Sunnydale to get out before they get the same treatment."
"Ah, the old Behead-O-Gram," Xander said. "When you want to say, 'There can be only one, and it ain't gonna be you.'"
"As I understand it," Sarah said, "this is precisely the sort of thing Walpurgis did in her day. Which leads me to wonder-"
"...how can she be alive?" Giles finished for her. "The woman we encountered last night was almost impossibly fast, just as Walpurgis' legend describes her. I don't see how it couldn't be her."
"But if it is," Tara said, "she'd be more than six hundred years old, right?"
"Which puts her in, like, Master territory," Xander added. "So how come she's not all bumpy and stuff? She looks like a garden-variety vamp to me."
Faith nodded her head, understanding. Kakistos, the vampire who had killed Faith's first Watcher, had been about seven hundred years old, and he had looked like a costume from a Gwar concert.
"Maybe-" Faith started. Everyone turned around to look at her as she looked at Giles. "Um, maybe you could tell us how she's supposed to have died. I mean, was it a Slayer?"
"Let's, let's all sit down," Giles said, pointing to the table in the back. Faith, Sarah, Xander, Anya, and Tara all took seats and looked expectantly at Giles.
"In answer to Faith's question," he began, "no, it wasn't a Slayer who killed Walpurgis. In fact, it was a Watcher.
"Walpurgis, as I mentioned before, effectively ruled an area of a few hundred square miles in Swabia, part of what is now Germany. But, at about the turn of the 14th century, the human residents of her domain rose up against her, aided by knights and clergy from neighboring states, and slew most of her undead followers.
"It is said that Walpurgis fled all the way to Portugal with her surviving henchmen, and, finding no safe haven on land, decided to try a career in piracy. She hired a crew of human thugs to man her vessel during the day, and she and her vampire followers sailed the ship at night. In this way, she was able to attack ships under cover of darkness, often capturing entire vessels, taking the precious wares they brought back from Asia and Africa, and detaining their crews below decks to keep herself and her subordinates fed.
"But the Watchers' Council got wind of Walpurgis' deeds, and they sent a Watcher - one George Lloyd, who has been held up as a model of bravery by the Council ever since - to assassinate her. Lloyd began hanging about in waterfront taverns, studying the speech and dress of the rough sailors, and listening for word of Walpurgis. Finally, he found her ship when it landed one night in Bristol to offload its latest stolen cargo, and he finagled a position on board as a sailor.
"Once the ship set sail, Lloyd spent weeks exploring the ship as they headed further and further out to sea. It seemed that Walpurgis had become interested in the New World, perhaps as a place to establish another domain, away from Europe's crossbows and Christianity.
"Finally, a month after the voyage began, Lloyd went below decks in the middle of the day, when few of the vampires were awake. He broke into the powder magazine and soaked a long strip of cloth in oil, which he lit like a fuse. He then seized a longboat, in which he had hidden food and barrels of water, and made his escape. Before anyone could pursue him, the ship exploded. Neither Walpurgis nor any of her followers were ever seen again."
"So what happened to Lloyd?" Tara asked.
"He tried to return to Europe, but he ran out of water before he could get there. His body was found on the Irish coast, still clutching the watertight barrel in which he had sealed his diary. His writings indicated that he knew he was unlikely to survive the journey, but he had been willing to make that sacrifice in order to defeat so great an enemy."
"Wow," Faith said. Everyone was looking at her again. "That's...that's a great story."
"It's not a story," Xander said, a little pointedly. "A real guy gave his life to save real people. Some people have that in them." He glanced at Faith. "And some don't."
Faith felt a little anger rising to that remark, but she held it down. For all she knew, Xander was right.
"Well then," Sarah said, "we still have several hours of daylight remaining. Perhaps some research is in order."
"Yes, yes," Giles said. "I have several books in the loft that may contain more information on Walpurgis. Anya, why don't you and Tara run out to the library and see what you can find on the Internet? And Xander, perhaps you could mind the register for a bit?"
"No problem," Xander replied. "Maybe I can figure out why Anya seems to be in love with it."
"Well, duh," Anya said. "It holds the money."
"Faith," Giles continued, "there's a training room in the back that we built for Buffy. You might like to, um, check it out."
"Thanks," Faith said. She walked through the rear door and soon discovered the room. It was great - there was a punching bag, a target dummy, practice weapons, all kinds of stuff. It was certainly better than working out in the abandoned solitary confinement block at Fuller.
But even as Faith dropped to the floor to warm up, she began to wonder about her new enemy, an enemy she'd never even seen. Who was she, really? Was she really as fast as everyone said? And what preparations was SHE making right now?
Faith had a feeling that all of her questions were going to be answered soon. And maybe not in a good way.
-----
Bobby watched carefully as Walpurgis hurled Jake across the room. She'd already done the same to Bobby several times, and Bobby was glad to let Jake have a turn. The new recruits from last night sat nearby, watching and learning.
"No, no," Walpurgis said, "you are making yourself too easy to throw. Keep your center of balance low, and don't lean over so much."
"Right," Jake said, dragging himself to his feet. They stood on the large wooden floor of what had once been a dance studio, now abandoned after its owner had gone bankrupt by refusing to believe that break dancing wasn't on the verge of a huge comeback. Walpurgis had hung half a dozen European swords and a couple of shields on the back wall, making the place look like some sort of Western dojo.
Walpurgis and Jake closed and the swordswoman grabbed Jake again. This time, it took a little longer for her to throw him, but he still hit the floor hard.
"That is enough for now," Walpurgis said. She sat down on the floor and gestured for Bobby and Jake to do the same. "Let us talk about our enemies. Tell me about the ones who killed the vampires at the Bronze."
"OK, lessee," Jake said, "there was Spike, but Tony - this vamp who lives at the old gas station at the edge of town - swears he saw Spike's car heading for the highway last night."
"Dude," Bobby said, "Tony also swears that aliens kidnapped him in 1973 but sent him back 'cause he didn't have live sperm. You know, for their alien breeding program."
"Anyway," Jake went on, "then there were the two guys and the chick we saw last night. They're pretty much lunch meat; I am totally embarrassed that we didn't kill them."
"More opportunities will present themselves," Walpurgis said. "Go on."
"OK. The real heavy hitters were these two chicks. Witches or magicians or something, I don't know. The one blonde one had a couple of gnarly spells, but the redhead - dude, she must have dusted half the vamps in the place single-handed. Making stakes fly and stuff."
Walpurgis' eyebrows rose slightly. "Where is this red-headed witch now?" she asked.
"I donno. But I think I heard somebody call her...Willow. It couldn't be too hard to find somebody with a name like that."
"Good," Walpurgis said, thoughtfully. "A powerful witch would be a very helpful ally."
"What makes you think she'll help us?" Bobby asked.
"Why wouldn't she?" Walpurgis replied. She took a sword from the wall and idly examined its edges for flaws as she spoke. "I'm sure she would do anything...for her sire."
END CHAPTER 2
Bzzzzt.
It was the first ring of the buzzer, alerting every inmate of the Fuller State Correctional Facility for Women that it was time to awaken to another day of incarceration.
Faith got up, put on her uniform, brushed her teeth and hair. Sonya, her best friend and cell mate, nudged past her at the sink, growling the growl of those who are not in their right minds before their first cup of coffee. Even if it's only bad prison coffee.
Sliiiiide. Ka-chunk. The sound of four hundred cell doors opening at once, filling the corridors with blue uniforms. They chattered and jostled their way towards the cafeteria like a herd of unruly cattle headed for the feeding trough.
There had once been a time when Faith thought the monotony of this life would kill her if her enemies, new or old, didn't do it first. But somehow, that hadn't happened at all. Instead, she'd found friends, and a Watcher, and a purpose -- helping prisoners who wanted to get their lives on track. The gang leaders and drug lords who had once ruled over every prisoner within Fuller's walls now had no choice but to share their dominion with Faith, Sonya, and their ever-growing band of followers. Of course, it helped that their efforts were secretly supported by prison Warden Julian Barnes. Barnes' large stature and friendly, open demeanor belied his capacity for subtlety and behind-the-scenes maneuvering. His manipulation of cell and work assignments had, no doubt, saved Faith and Sonya's lives on more than one occasion.
As Faith and Sonya fell into the river of inmates trudging towards the cafeteria, Faith felt another hand press into hers for a moment, then let go. Without looking, Faith could tell that the object was a match stick. In her gang's secret code of objects and symbols, a match stick meant that the warden, or one of the few other staff members who were in on the plan, had arranged a secret meeting with the recipient. Faith knew she should expect a one-day work reassignment -- for example, mopping the staff lounge.
Sure enough, the work roster that morning stated that Faith would spend the day cleaning the kitchen of the staff cafeteria. Oh boy, Faith thought, fun with grease traps. The one problem with this system of secret meetings was that you actually had to do the crappy jobs that served as cover. But there were worse things; some inmates had to do those kinds of jobs _every_ day.
She began to make her way to the guard station that protected the way between the inmate and staff areas of the prison, wondering what ol' Warden Barnes wanted.
-----
"I want to know what this is all about," Barnes said to Sarah Reynolds, Fuller's resident correctional psychologist. The warden was holding up a letter which he had pulled out of a Federal Express envelope a few minutes before.
"Faith is being transferred. I simply need your signature on the forms," Reynolds replied. She spoke with great precision, as always, in an accent generic enough that she could have acquired it in any number of metropolitan areas across the United States. Only the most skilled of linguists might have guessed that Sarah had been born in Leeds, England, and that her Americanized speech patterns were the result of a conscious effort on her part to avoid drawing attention to herself. It made her work as Faith's Watcher that much easier to carry out.
"I know you need my signature for a transfer," Barnes went on. "What I want to know is (a) why, and (b), why am I first hearing about it in a letter from the office of the Lieutenant Governor."
"I simply think that Faith would be better off in another institution."
"Again, I'm asking you for a reason." Anger was rising in Barnes' voice.
"She's...not making as solid a recovery as I'd hoped," Sarah said. "The pressure of being field marshal in your secret war is getting to her. She needs time away from all that, somewhere where every single gang leader and drug dealer doesn't know and hate her."
Barnes thought about that for a split second, then spoke. "That is _bullshit_ and you know it. Faith's doing better than she ever has. You don't think I read those reports you put on my desk? You don't think I keep an eye on her myself?" He stood up from his chair and put his hands on his desk; his huge frame leaned over Sarah like a steel crane.
"You know, my gut's always been pretty reliable, and ever since I met you, it's been telling me that you're keeping something back from me. I never pried, because you're my friend and I trust you. But this is the first time my gut has ever told me that you're lying to my face."
Instead of responding to Barnes' accusation, Sarah said, "I'm afraid there's one other letter you need to read." She handed him another page, on Fuller letterhead. The warden scanned it and then somehow managed to frown even more deeply than he had before.
"Your resignation."
"Yes. I'm sorry I couldn't give you more notice."
"Notice?" Barnes said, straightening up to his full height. "You think I'm bothered that you didn't give me enough NOTICE? Jesus Christ, Sarah! I can't begin to tell you how many parts of this bother me more than that you didn't give me notice. Like you going over my head to the state government, for starters."
"I didn't want to," Sarah replied as she got up from her chair, "but I knew you would argue, and I don't have the time. We need to leave today."
"We? As in you and Faith?" Barnes said. His eyes narrowed. "What is this? Are you two...are you involved in something? Some Federal thing, maybe?"
"I can't tell you."
"Goddamn it. If you and Faith leave now, everything we all have worked for could go straight down the john."
"You'll still have Sonya."
"Sonya's good, but...Faith has an edge. I don't really even know what it is, but it scares the bejesus out of the gang leaders. We couldn't have got this far without her." Then, looking straight at Sarah, he added, "Or you."
"You'll work it out," Sarah said. "You may put up a 'dumb jock' facade sometimes, but I know what kind of mind you have. You've lost a couple of pieces, that's all. I believe you'll still win the game."
"Fine. Whatever," Barnes said, his face suddenly stony. He bent down over his desk and signed the forms. Still looking down at his desktop, he held out the signed documents to Faith and said, "My secretary will make you a copy. Now get out."
Sarah took the papers and started towards the door.
"Wait," Julian said. Sarah turned; Barnes was looking at her.
"Whatever it is...good luck," Barnes said.
Sarah looked into his big brown eyes. "Thank you," she said softly.
-----
Sarah's dress shoes clicked rhythmically against the floor as the wiry, slightly owlish looking Watcher hurried to meet Faith in the staff cafeteria. She was not happy. Julian was her friend, and now she had to leave him in the lurch because of her Watcher duties. Not to mention that she might not ever see him again. Trying to distract herself from these thoughts, Sarah idly wondered how the Council had gotten to the state Lieutenant Governor. They'd had years to get their fingers into California politics, knowing the value of having influence in the state that held the town of Sunnydale. They might have used bribery, or blackmail, or maybe the letter was simply a clever forgery. It didn't really matter, of course. The end was the important thing now, not the means.
Sarah entered the cafeteria and went back through the doors to the kitchen, where Faith and a couple of other prisoners were mopping and scrubbing at shiny institutional tile and stainless steel as a guard watched over them.
"Faith," Sarah said. "Come with me, please."
The dark-haired young woman looked up at her from her position on the floor, where she was cleaning the front of an oven. There was a steadiness to Faith's gaze that no one, Sarah thought, might ever have seen before in the young Slayer's entire life. The Faith of today was a far cry from the girl who, vicious and frightened as a wounded animal, had walked through the prison gates almost a year and a half earlier. There was a degree of confidence in her eyes now, and, as Faith looked at Sarah, respect -- the sort of respect for others that is born of respect for one's self. Faith had come a long way, and Sarah felt pride in having played a part in that.
And she was grateful for every inch of that progress, because Faith was about to be tested as she never had been before.
Faith followed Sarah out into the hall and into her office. As soon as the door closed behind them, Sarah said, "Faith, we have to leave."
"Huh?" Faith said. "I'm supposed to meet with Mr. Barnes."
"No. Mr. Barnes summoned you because he wanted to talk about your transfer."
"What transfer? I don't want to go anywhere."
"Officially, you are being transferred from Fuller to another institution. Unofficially, you are exiting the prison system."
"Hold it -- you mean I'm escaping?"
"Essentially. Being broken out would be the more accurate phrase."
"Look, not that I don't miss beer and solo showers, but why now? And why am I thinking that we're not going to Aruba, or anywhere else the Beach Boys used to sing about before they died or whatever?"
"I'll thank you not to assume that the Beach Boys are dead merely because they are no longer as popular as, for example, 'N Sync."
"This is because of Buffy, isn't it? There wasn't another Slayer to replace her?"
"No, there wasn't. As far as the Council understands, Buffy has had her replacement; the line now goes through you."
"Which means I'm the only one left. Which means I have to take over...Oh, my God. Don't tell me we're going to Sunnydale."
"All right, I won't tell you. We'll just get in the car and go."
"Goddamn it."
"Quite. Now let's go to the guard station and get you ready for your 'transfer'."
"Wait, we're going now?"
"The Council advised me to get you out as quickly as possible before their ruse is discovered."
"What about my stuff? And I want to say goodbye to my friends. Sonya -- I can't just leave without saying something to Sonya."
"I'm sorry. There's no time for any of that. A state police car waiting for us outside right now."
"Well, he can leave the meter running, because I'm not leaving here without-"
"Faith," Sarah cut in, "this isn't personal. I'm not taking you out of here to punish you, or to reward you, or because I feel like it. Many people's lives may be at stake, and this is our -- your -- only opportunity to help them. And..."
"What?"
"Never mind. We need to go. Now."
Faith's fists clenched. She looked like she wanted to hit something, or throw something. Instead, she closed her eyes for almost ten seconds, and then opened them.
"Fine," she said, her voice tight. "Let's go."
-----
Rupert Giles was in Hell.
At least, that's what it felt like from the neck up. Any attempt to lift or turn his head just made the pain slide to the lowest point, like sand in a jug. The thought of sitting up made him want to vomit, something he was fairly certain he'd already done a few times in the last several hours.
He knew from experience that it was never good to drink alone. The day Buffy died, he'd been sorely tempted but fought off the urge, knowing that, if he started drinking then, he might never, ever stop.
But this time, the desire had crept up on him, striking when he hadn't expected it, and thus hadn't steeled himself against it. You're not really alone, he had thought in a state of demented sadness, if Jack Daniels and Jose Cuervo are there to keep you company.
Suddenly, Giles felt the sensation of a knife being driven sideways through his skull.
No, he realized, it's just the doorbell.
He seriously considered not answering it. It might be Xander, dropping by to annoy him on his day off. It might be a Jehovah's Witness. It might be a Girl Scout with cookies, which would be disastrous -- one look at a cookie and Giles would certainly toss his own.
But it could also be the person he was waiting for.
Giles looked at his bedside clock/radio. Was it eleven o'clock already? Thank Heaven it was Sunday, when he wouldn't have to open the Magic Box until noon.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Giles rose from the bed and pulled on the paisley robe that Buffy had once said made him look like Hugh Hefner. It wasn't as dignified as he might have liked, but there was no time to dress properly, and it was far better than coming to the front door in his boxers and an old concert T-shirt so worn that the young David Bowie pictured on the front now looked like the old David Bowie.
Giles shuffled downstairs to the front door and peered through the peephole. He saw a woman he didn't recognize. She didn't dress like a Jehovah's Witness, she was too old to be a Girl Scout, and she was too attractive to be Xander.
He opened the door, trying not to wince as the daylight struck his sensitive eyes. "Um, hello," he said.
"Hello," the woman answered, stretching out her hand. "I'm Sarah Reynolds. I believe you were expecting me?"
"Oh, yes, yes, do come in," Giles said, shaking the woman's hand. "Please forgive my appearance, I, ah, I was up late last night. And I wasn't expecting you so soon."
"The Council can act quite quickly when properly motivated," Sarah said as she stepped forward into the doorway, "and your report has alarmed them considerably."
Only then did Giles notice another figure standing behind Sarah.
"Hey," Faith said, barely looking up at Giles.
"Faith," Giles said. "How- how are you?"
"Good," Faith said awkwardly. "I'm good."
"Good," Giles repeated. "That's good. Um, come in."
Faith followed Sarah inside, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Glancing around, Faith saw that the place was less neat than it had been the last time she'd visited. It wasn't messy by any normal person's standards, but the few dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, the jacket and shirt thrown over the back of the couch, and most especially the empty tequila bottle on the coffee table all stuck out like sore thumbs in the otherwise hyper-orderly environment of Giles' apartment.
"Would- would either of you like something to drink?" Giles asked.
Faith's eyes flicked wishfully to the tequila bottle. "Just some water. Please," she said.
"For me, as well," Sarah added.
As Giles poured glasses of cool water from a Brita pitcher, Sarah said, "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Giles. Your CD-ROM versions of the Codex Diabolorum and Tobin's Spirit Guide have been invaluable to me since I became Faith's Watcher."
"Oh, well, thank you," Giles replied. "Though I really can't take a great deal of the credit. Willow -- a friend of Buffy Summers' -- scanned the text and created the, the user interface."
"Oh, well, please convey my thanks. And my condolences, of course, which I also extend to you."
Faith took a second to translate Sarah's three-dollar words and realized that Sarah was saying that she was sorry that Buffy was dead. I should say something too, Faith thought.
But what could she say? Was it even possible for her to say anything that would make Giles feel better and not worse? Would she just look like a hypocrite, saying she was sorry for the death of someone she herself had tried to kill a whole bunch of times?
In the end, Faith chose to say nothing.
"Thank you," Giles said to Sarah. "I...it's been hard on all of us."
Sarah glanced over at the empty liquor bottle. "I imagine so," she answered neutrally.
Giles looked up at her and Faith. "Well, I imagine we should go to the magic shop."
"For supplies?" Sarah asked. "You already have a plan in mind? I must say, I am impressed."
"Oh, ah, no," Giles responded clumsily. "I own the shop. It's usually where we -- that is, the other people who...used to help Buffy, and I -- meet when we make plans. We've been gathering there in the mornings when the shop opens."
"Ah, yes, Faith's told me a bit about them. Rather unusual, for a Slayer to have such a large group of supporters."
"Buffy's 'supporters' have helped her to save the world on half a dozen occasions," Giles said, a bit sharply.
"It was not my intention to criticize, Mr. Giles," Sarah responded evenly.
Giles let out a breath. "I'm sorry," Giles said. "The Council has always frowned upon my allowing Buffy's friends to help her. Or allowing Buffy to have friends at all, for that matter."
"The Council's attitudes have changed somewhat, of late," Sarah said. "Your Slayer lasted longer than most, and bested a great many deadly opponents. The Council may value tradition, but they also value results. Which is why they took your report so seriously."
Wow, Faith thought, not only is he a Watcher again, but they actually respect him now.
Life in prison had taught Faith a few things about respect. Her survival had often depended on it. A prisoner who liked you might turn against you for someone she liked better. A prisoner who feared you would happily betray you for someone stronger. But a prisoner who respected you was unlikely ever to sneak up behind you with a sharpened spoon handle.
Giles went upstairs to change. Faith and Sarah sat and sipped their water. Faith was silent. The reality of her situation was beginning to sink in -- she was going to be seeing Willow and Xander again. And she wasn't sure how she was going to handle it.
"It must be a bit unnerving, that you're about to see Buffy's friends again," Sarah said.
"I really hate it when you read my mind," Faith replied.
"No telepathy is required," Sarah said. "I simply know that, were I in your position, that's what I would worry about."
"They hate me," Faith said. "Which I could handle, if it weren't for the fact that I deserve it."
"You may have wronged them in the past," Sarah answered, "but if you are good to them now, they may see that you've changed."
"I don't know if they'll give me a chance," Faith said.
"Perhaps they won't. But you must give them a chance to give you a chance, if that makes any sense. Shutting people out before they can shut you out has cost you a lot, in the past."
"So basically you're telling me to make nice no matter what."
"It's not merely that. Remember our first rule of combat?"
"'You can't win by trying not to lose,'" Faith quoted.
"It's the same with friendships, Faith," Sarah said. "If your sole goal is to avoid being hurt, you end up with nothing."
"I don't think any of those people will ever be my friends," Faith replied, looking down.
"Perhaps not. But you may need them as allies, and that means that you cannot afford to alienate them."
Faith nodded and fell silent. She stared at the drops of condensation that traveled down the side of her water glass. Some went straight down, others twisted and turned. A few barely moved, while others rushed to the bottom in a split second.
Then Giles came downstairs, and the three of them got into his car and headed for town.
-----
As beginnings went, it wasn't the best.
They arrived at the shop to find the door open and the lights on, but no one in sight. Giles entered cautiously.
"Anya?" Giles called.
"Good morning!" Anya cried, springing up from behind the counter and causing Giles to nearly jump out of his skin. "I was just plugging in the register. I like to unplug it at night, before we leave, in case of lightning or a power surge or something." She looked lovingly down at the machine. "We can't have your little circuits getting fried, can we? Because then you couldn't count the money, which is the whole reason I like you." She patted the top of the register.
Giles dealt with Anya's peculiar behavior in his customary fashion -- he pretended he hadn't seen it. Waving Sarah and Faith into the shop, he said, "Anya, this is Sarah Reynolds, and this is Faith. I don't know if you've met, but-"
"Oh, yes, Faith," Anya said, looking at the Slayer. "Xander's told me a lot about you."
"Really?" Faith said.
"You took his virginity and then tried to kill him."
No one said a word.
"Did you know he used to be afraid to let me be on top during sex?" Anya went on. "That was your fault. So stay away from him. See this?"
Anya walked up to Faith and held up her fist. Faith thought Anya was threatening her until she noticed the modest diamond ring on Anya's finger.
"This ring grants me exclusive sexual and romantic access to Xander. For life!" Anya lowered her fist, breathing hard. "So don't get any ideas," she finished.
Before Anya could say anything else, Giles said, "Anya, I believe you should do our weekly inventory now."
For once, Anya didn't argue. She backed away from Faith, never taking her eyes off the Slayer until she bumped into the edge of the counter, then turned around and practically ran into the stockroom.
Faith was moderately horrified. She had expected to get a negative reception from Xander and Willow, but not from someone she'd only met once. And Faith had been in Buffy's body at the time.
"Anya," Giles said slowly, "tends to...speak her mind. I wouldn't worry, I'm sure she'll-"
"Hey Giles," came a shout from the door. Sarah and Faith turned around and saw Xander, who was carrying a white pastry box. "I brought some jelly doughn...holy Chihuahua."
Xander was looking at Faith.
"Hey," Faith said.
"Faith," Xander replied cautiously. "It's been...well, not that long, considering that you're supposed to be doing life."
"The Council has arranged for Faith's release," Sarah said. She walked over to Xander and extended her hand. "I am Sarah Reynolds, Faith's Watcher. You must be Xander."
Xander shook her hand like it might be a cobra with fingers, then looked over at Giles. "Uh, Big G," he said nervously, "you didn't say anything about another Watcher. "
"Don't call me that, and no, I didn't," Giles replied. "Did you expect Faith to come here unsupervised?"
"Well, no, but-"
"Giles!" came a shout from the doorway, drowning out the tinkling of the bells that hung on the door. It was Tara, who was breathing like a racehorse.
"Tara," Giles said. "You're shouting. Which, since I've never heard you do it before, I find deeply alarming."
"Turn on a radio," Tara said, "to the local news."
Anya, who had heard the commotion, came out from the back room with a battery-powered radio and switched it on.
"...found at about six-thirty this morning on the steps of City Hall. While no one saw the attack, the body has been taken away to the county coroner's office, but the Sunnydale Police have stated that it is likely that the victim was beheaded at the scene. The police have declined to comment, however, on the symbol that the joggers who found the body report was carved into the victim's forehead. Stay tuned to this station for further updates." The radio broadcast went to a commercial.
"It was a lady who was walking her dog," Tara said. "They must have just grabbed her and killed her right there."
"Good God, why?" Anya said. "I mean, I don't like dogs much either, but gosh."
"It's a message," said Giles. "She's telling the human government of Sunnydale to get out before they get the same treatment."
"Ah, the old Behead-O-Gram," Xander said. "When you want to say, 'There can be only one, and it ain't gonna be you.'"
"As I understand it," Sarah said, "this is precisely the sort of thing Walpurgis did in her day. Which leads me to wonder-"
"...how can she be alive?" Giles finished for her. "The woman we encountered last night was almost impossibly fast, just as Walpurgis' legend describes her. I don't see how it couldn't be her."
"But if it is," Tara said, "she'd be more than six hundred years old, right?"
"Which puts her in, like, Master territory," Xander added. "So how come she's not all bumpy and stuff? She looks like a garden-variety vamp to me."
Faith nodded her head, understanding. Kakistos, the vampire who had killed Faith's first Watcher, had been about seven hundred years old, and he had looked like a costume from a Gwar concert.
"Maybe-" Faith started. Everyone turned around to look at her as she looked at Giles. "Um, maybe you could tell us how she's supposed to have died. I mean, was it a Slayer?"
"Let's, let's all sit down," Giles said, pointing to the table in the back. Faith, Sarah, Xander, Anya, and Tara all took seats and looked expectantly at Giles.
"In answer to Faith's question," he began, "no, it wasn't a Slayer who killed Walpurgis. In fact, it was a Watcher.
"Walpurgis, as I mentioned before, effectively ruled an area of a few hundred square miles in Swabia, part of what is now Germany. But, at about the turn of the 14th century, the human residents of her domain rose up against her, aided by knights and clergy from neighboring states, and slew most of her undead followers.
"It is said that Walpurgis fled all the way to Portugal with her surviving henchmen, and, finding no safe haven on land, decided to try a career in piracy. She hired a crew of human thugs to man her vessel during the day, and she and her vampire followers sailed the ship at night. In this way, she was able to attack ships under cover of darkness, often capturing entire vessels, taking the precious wares they brought back from Asia and Africa, and detaining their crews below decks to keep herself and her subordinates fed.
"But the Watchers' Council got wind of Walpurgis' deeds, and they sent a Watcher - one George Lloyd, who has been held up as a model of bravery by the Council ever since - to assassinate her. Lloyd began hanging about in waterfront taverns, studying the speech and dress of the rough sailors, and listening for word of Walpurgis. Finally, he found her ship when it landed one night in Bristol to offload its latest stolen cargo, and he finagled a position on board as a sailor.
"Once the ship set sail, Lloyd spent weeks exploring the ship as they headed further and further out to sea. It seemed that Walpurgis had become interested in the New World, perhaps as a place to establish another domain, away from Europe's crossbows and Christianity.
"Finally, a month after the voyage began, Lloyd went below decks in the middle of the day, when few of the vampires were awake. He broke into the powder magazine and soaked a long strip of cloth in oil, which he lit like a fuse. He then seized a longboat, in which he had hidden food and barrels of water, and made his escape. Before anyone could pursue him, the ship exploded. Neither Walpurgis nor any of her followers were ever seen again."
"So what happened to Lloyd?" Tara asked.
"He tried to return to Europe, but he ran out of water before he could get there. His body was found on the Irish coast, still clutching the watertight barrel in which he had sealed his diary. His writings indicated that he knew he was unlikely to survive the journey, but he had been willing to make that sacrifice in order to defeat so great an enemy."
"Wow," Faith said. Everyone was looking at her again. "That's...that's a great story."
"It's not a story," Xander said, a little pointedly. "A real guy gave his life to save real people. Some people have that in them." He glanced at Faith. "And some don't."
Faith felt a little anger rising to that remark, but she held it down. For all she knew, Xander was right.
"Well then," Sarah said, "we still have several hours of daylight remaining. Perhaps some research is in order."
"Yes, yes," Giles said. "I have several books in the loft that may contain more information on Walpurgis. Anya, why don't you and Tara run out to the library and see what you can find on the Internet? And Xander, perhaps you could mind the register for a bit?"
"No problem," Xander replied. "Maybe I can figure out why Anya seems to be in love with it."
"Well, duh," Anya said. "It holds the money."
"Faith," Giles continued, "there's a training room in the back that we built for Buffy. You might like to, um, check it out."
"Thanks," Faith said. She walked through the rear door and soon discovered the room. It was great - there was a punching bag, a target dummy, practice weapons, all kinds of stuff. It was certainly better than working out in the abandoned solitary confinement block at Fuller.
But even as Faith dropped to the floor to warm up, she began to wonder about her new enemy, an enemy she'd never even seen. Who was she, really? Was she really as fast as everyone said? And what preparations was SHE making right now?
Faith had a feeling that all of her questions were going to be answered soon. And maybe not in a good way.
-----
Bobby watched carefully as Walpurgis hurled Jake across the room. She'd already done the same to Bobby several times, and Bobby was glad to let Jake have a turn. The new recruits from last night sat nearby, watching and learning.
"No, no," Walpurgis said, "you are making yourself too easy to throw. Keep your center of balance low, and don't lean over so much."
"Right," Jake said, dragging himself to his feet. They stood on the large wooden floor of what had once been a dance studio, now abandoned after its owner had gone bankrupt by refusing to believe that break dancing wasn't on the verge of a huge comeback. Walpurgis had hung half a dozen European swords and a couple of shields on the back wall, making the place look like some sort of Western dojo.
Walpurgis and Jake closed and the swordswoman grabbed Jake again. This time, it took a little longer for her to throw him, but he still hit the floor hard.
"That is enough for now," Walpurgis said. She sat down on the floor and gestured for Bobby and Jake to do the same. "Let us talk about our enemies. Tell me about the ones who killed the vampires at the Bronze."
"OK, lessee," Jake said, "there was Spike, but Tony - this vamp who lives at the old gas station at the edge of town - swears he saw Spike's car heading for the highway last night."
"Dude," Bobby said, "Tony also swears that aliens kidnapped him in 1973 but sent him back 'cause he didn't have live sperm. You know, for their alien breeding program."
"Anyway," Jake went on, "then there were the two guys and the chick we saw last night. They're pretty much lunch meat; I am totally embarrassed that we didn't kill them."
"More opportunities will present themselves," Walpurgis said. "Go on."
"OK. The real heavy hitters were these two chicks. Witches or magicians or something, I don't know. The one blonde one had a couple of gnarly spells, but the redhead - dude, she must have dusted half the vamps in the place single-handed. Making stakes fly and stuff."
Walpurgis' eyebrows rose slightly. "Where is this red-headed witch now?" she asked.
"I donno. But I think I heard somebody call her...Willow. It couldn't be too hard to find somebody with a name like that."
"Good," Walpurgis said, thoughtfully. "A powerful witch would be a very helpful ally."
"What makes you think she'll help us?" Bobby asked.
"Why wouldn't she?" Walpurgis replied. She took a sword from the wall and idly examined its edges for flaws as she spoke. "I'm sure she would do anything...for her sire."
END CHAPTER 2