3000, seconds later

Prenwick laughs at my shocked expression. "Didn't expect this, did you, Buffy?" His tone has a way of sounding kind, gentle while making me feel like I'm being stripped naked and violated.

"Not really." My voice carries a self-assurance that I do not actually possess. "Amy, what are you doing here? How?"

The witch smiles, pearly teeth contrasting with her midnight eyes. She sits calmly in the chair across from me, dressed in a filmy grey dress that appears to flow like her thick hair. "Actually, I'm not Amy. . . at least, not the Amy you knew."

"What do you mean?" I'm confused.

Amy glances at Prenwick as if silently asking for his permission. He nods. "I am a clone of your friend."

Spike speaks my thoughts, "Cloning of whole creatures has been outlawed for centuries."

Amy ducks her head almost shyly, flirtatiously. "Yes, but Prenwick's team did it here. . . in the labs here. He raised me as his own. I *am* Amy, just not the Amy you remember." Prenwick places a protective arm around his charge as he situates himself next to her.

Now her youthful appearance and aura makes sense to me. Still doesn't make me feel better about her interest in Spike. I direct a question at Prenwick, "How'd you get Amy's DNA?"

"You know as well as I do that everyone's DNA has been on public file since the early twenty-first century." He smirks at me while Amy is staring blatantly at Spike.

Keeping my eyes blankly on Prenwick, I choose not to respond but project to Spike, "Why Amy?"

Spike's voice sweeps reassuringly through my mind, "The better question, love, is why does he need a powerful witch? Why does he need the magic? Pet, I'm letting you ask the questions. Prenwick's more likely to try and impress you. We'll get more information."

My brain works fast and furious. Aloud to Prenwick, I ask, "So, how did you know Amy was a witch. . . a powerful witch?"

Amusement fills his eyes. "Watcher's journals."

"And how did you get a hold of those?"

"How do you think?"

He's playing with me, and I hate it. "The Watcher's journals aren't as easy to obtain as the DNA."

"I have my ways."

"The only way would be. . ." The truth rushes through me like dawning horror. "There's someone working for you on the Council."

Prenwick claps his hands together like I'm a child who's solved a riddle. His grin is obnoxious. "Bravo, Buffy, bravo."

I swallow my shock. "Still doesn't tell us why you need such powerful magic."

Amy's asserts herself, "Oh, it's not just me. Prenwick's cloned several of the most powerful witches and warlocks for his plan."

"Willow?" I transmit silently and fearfully to Spike.

However, I receive no response from Spike. Instead, Prenwick replies to my anxious visage, "Not your Willow. I couldn't control someone as free- spirited as the Watcher's journals describe her to be."

Unbidden relief flows through my mind. "Good. That's as it should be."

Prenwick frowns slightly. "I suppose. And you being here is as it should be. Don't you want to know why I've brought you here?"

"Other than to keep us from mucking up your plans?" I snap, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

"Well, yes, there is that part," he acknowledges thoughtfully, "But, I do have other plans for you and Spike."

"And they are?"

He smiles broadly. "I want you to witness the end to humankind."

"Okay, and what harebrained scheme do you have in mind?"

At my tone, Spike echoes in my head, "Careful, pet."

Prenwick gestures to Amy to tell the story. She becomes more animated in response to his attention. She makes certain to talk directly to Spike, ignoring me. "Yes. The end. You see, the demons in this world have been made to suffer for too long, to be subjected to endless cruelty in the face of mankind. Now, it is their turn to have the upper hand."

Spike takes the cue with the grace of a pro, "How, pet?"

Flicking her hair over her shoulder, Amy giggles at his use of endearment with her. "Through the 'Rapture,' of course."

I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying anything, but I silently relay to Spike, "The burned bodies have something to do with this."

Spike agrees with me, and asks, "The bodies. What were you trying to do with them?"

"The bodies in the field you were sent to?" Amy pauses for effect, and I want to kick her. "We're. . . the witches like me. . . are still working on focusing our power. We haven't been able to get it right from distances just yet, so that's why the bodies got all burned up, but we're getting be. . ."

Prenwick interrupts, "I think what Amy is trying to say is that we are working on a way to send all the humans in this world and on Mars and the moon to an alternative dimension. . . hopefully, a nice hell dimension. And we plan to do it instantaneously. . . at a future scheduled time. . . which means soon. The witches are gaining strength, and they were already able to make a whole city of people disappear only an hour ago."

At his words, my legs feel weak even though I'm still seated. His focus is me, so I speak next, "Like reverse rapture in the Bible. You twisted the Bible."

"What can I say? As a human, I was a preacher. . . a corrupt preacher but a preacher nonetheless. Either way, I studied the Bible quite extensively."

"Yet, you choose to focus on and distort the one part of the text that suits your goals and plans."

He shrugs indifferently. "Well, I *am* a demon."

"Not all demons do what you choose to do," I point out angrily.

"You're not going to change my mind, Buffy."

As Prenwick rises to his feet, the chairs to which Spike and I are tied detach from the floor and hover in the air. I glance at Spike, and he regards me without answers to the questions on my face.

Prenwick clears his throat. "Okay. Now I'm going to put you in the holding tank until our final moment. It'll probably be in a couple of days. Try to get some rest to be fresh for the affair."

Prenwick begins directing the chairs to the office door when Amy jumps up. "Sir, may I have Spike for awhile? I'd like to show him something."

"But, of course, my dear. Take him." He hands control of Spike's chair over to his cloned, pseudo-daughter. "Gives me some time to be alone with Buffy. What a marvelous idea."

Alarm blazes through me, and my eyes slam into Spike's. He telegraphs, "I love you, Buffy. Don't worry. No matter what happens."

I barely get in my "I love you, too" before my lover is out of sight.

* * *

3000, minutes later

Prenwick stops my chair's motion after we have reached the end of another long series of corridors that look and smell exactly like the one that led to his office. We pass several demons along the way, many of species that I've before seen.

"Here we are." Pacing around to face me, he places his hands on my thighs, rubbing his fingertips over the clothing covering them. "Now, what shall I do with you?"

I push my legs as far down in the seat as possible in attempt to avoid his touch. "Nothing. Just put me in the cell and go away."

"Ahhh, but I don't think so. I want to play." He brushes a lock of hair over my shoulder, tucking the hair snugly behind my ear. His breath is cool on my skin.

In response, I spit in his face. He draws back in surprise, wiping away the fluid.

"I like my women with bite." The cell door disappears momentarily and forces the chair inside. Entering behind me, he adds, "And my mind wonders what you will do if I release you from the chair, especially if I do this. . ."

Before I realize what is happening, he abuses my space and smashes his lips into mine. I turn my head abruptly, and he laughs long and hard. The restraints on my arms and legs dissipate on his command, and immediately, I lash at him with a firm kick to the jaw and two punches to the abdomen. He groans as he is thrown back but regains his equilibrium, massaging his jaw and smiling while backing out the door. I leap after him but meet with a solid but invisible force field that flings me to the ground.

"Miss Summers, I will break you, yet." Then, he is gone, and the wall is opaque once more.

Climbing to my feet, I circle the dark room, noting the blank brown walls and the small sink along the back wall, the drain in the center of the floor, and the dim bulb above, which I mark as a possible future weapon. To my left, there are two bunks jutting out from the wall. A mattress covers the metal, and on one of them lies. . . someone. . . an unmoving someone.

Warily, I approach the form, wondering if the person, demon, whatever might be dead. As I get closer, something seems familiar about the body. Then, the stray lock of stringy red hair sends recognition to me. . .

"Lydia," I breathe. Hurrying toward her, I balance on the edge of the pallet and tap her shoulder gently. When she doesn't react, I roll her onto her back.

She is awake, but her eyes are slits because the rest of her face is covered in huge purple bruises. My plans to slap her and give her hell for kissing Spike if I ever ran across her were at once gone. Skimming over the rest of her body, I note that the state of her face is likely the state of the rest of her flesh, and compassion washes over me.

"B-buffy?" Lydia sounds hoarse, probably because someone punched her in the neck.

TBC. . . Now that you know Prenwick's plan. . . how can Buffy and Spike do anything to stop him? Why is Lydia beaten? Who is the Council member who's working for Prenwick? Stay tuned. . . Dear readers, thanks for the lovely reviews! Makes my day that you're still enjoying the story! ;o)