Disclaimer: Fuck! Fuck! Mother mother fuck fuck! Mother fuck! Mother Fuck!
Mother mother fuck! One! Two! One two three four! Noise noise noise!
Smokin' weed, smokin' weed! Doin' coke, drinkin' beers! Drinkin' beers
beers beers! Writing fan fiction! Based on Joss Whedon's Buffy the Vampire
Slayer! Rollin' fatties! Smokin' blunts! Who smokes the blunts? We smoke
the blunts! Rollin' blunts and smokin' 'em! (How much for a nickel bag?)
Fifteen bucks, little man! Put that shit in my hand! If the money doesn't
show, then you owe me, owe me, owe! (cue music) My Jungle Love! O ee o ee
o! I think I wanna know ya, know ya!
Rating: R- there's nothing really bad in this chapter. Well, except for . . . see above.
Summary: Sequel to "Exit Stage Left". The Scoobies and their children battle against an impending apocalypse, their own demons, and an uncertain future.
Author's Notes: I am so sorry for the delay. School bites ass majorly! Thank Goddess it's over! Here's an extra long chapter to apologize, and as my present to the world for the holidays. I didn't know where I was going with this, but thanks to my muse Anyanka Faith, I know! *sings* I once was lost, but now I'm found! Ugh, that's quite enough! Hope you enjoy! Have a happy capitalistic-driven holiday! I know I will!
PS: Do you know what? I don't know how I survived this long without watching a Kevin Smith movie! The man is a bonified genius! Jay and Silent Bob are my heroes. They're like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern meet Abbott and Costello. Or Cheech and Chong meet Beavis and Butthead. Anyway, I borrowed the above "fuck rap" from Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. And the description I just gave them is from Chasing Amy. Someone please stop me!
Chapter Four- A Change in the Wind
It could all be described in one phrase, spoken so eloquently by Gillian.
"Well that's just . . . icky!"
Shushing the child, Tara turned the volume up on the portable TV. She and Giles, Anya, Buffy, and the kids sat in silence, watching the scene. Although the Magic Box should have opened half an hour ago, the workers remained in the Scooby Conference Room, not caring a bit.
On the television, a reporter for Sunnydale 5 News, about thirty years old and quite frazzled, looked down at her notes, then back to the camera.
"For those of you just tuning in, officials have confirmed that all thirty are dead." She turned her head, looking at the crime scene. Sunnydale Athletic Gym, just behind her, was swamped with ambulances, police cars, reporters, and spectators. "Here is a recap: At four-thirteen this morning, 911 dispatch received a call that someone inside the Sunnydale Gym had, quote "torn the insides" out of a trainer. When police arrived at the scene ten minutes later, all thirty gym members and employees were found dead."
Then, the screen flashed a view of the gym front. Large glass windows, once spotless, were smeared with blood, oozing down in streaks. Another flash, and there was a close up of a body bag, hoisted by two emergency response members, being put into the ambulance.
Waiting for her cue, the reporter continued. "Before officials arrived on the scene, there were reports of at least five decapitated bodies, six other bodies with the skin removed, and various body parts strewn about the building. There is no confirmation or denial of this rumor. Also in speculation are who did this, and why the massacre was performed. The mastermind could lie among the victims, or might have fled the scene before officials arrived." Grimacing as she glanced once again at the spectacle, the reporter signed off, promising an update when new information arrived.
Sitting up, Giles clicked the TV off, as the group sat in silence.
"So," Buffy began, looking down at the Formica table, "Any thoughts, Giles?"
He shrugged. "I don't quite know. This couldn't be some random attack."
"Demon gang?" Anya blurted out, simultaneously price-checking amulets.
"I don't know."
Tara sat up, stretching her arms above her head. "So, research party tonight? I'll call Willow and ask her to pick up pizza."
Anya followed suit. "I'll get a hold of Xander. He's working near there and could check it out around lunch."
"Oh, Spike can watch from home in case anything else happens!" Buffy stood, and ran out of the conference room before anyone else could get to the phone. Tara and Anya followed, proclaiming they had first dibs.
Still in the room, Giles slowly put the small TV away. He turned, looking into the faces of all seven kids.
"Uncle Giles," sighed Gillian, resting her head on her arm, "There's not going to be a research party tonight, is there?"
"Yes, apparently there is," he answered, taking off his glasses to clean them. "Why do you ask?"
Rolling her eyes, she flopped on the table. "I WAS supposed to spend the night at my friend Katelyn's house, but I guess that's not going to happen!"
Not answering the sullen teenager, Giles exited the room. While he went to the front door, he racked his brain for possibilities. As Anya pointed out, it could have been a demon gang. Or a ritual sacrifice. Or, against his better judgement, it could have just been a random killing.
He jolted out of his thought when he noticed a pair of eyes staring at him through the Magic Box's glass door. Fourteen pairs of eyes to be exact. A crowd was gathered outside, waiting for the doors to be opened.
"This is going to be a long day," he sighed, pulling out his keys to unlock the door.
"Hmmm . . . let's see. 'Jacob Namwen's novel is best described as expensive toilet paper, rather than the great literary masterpiece he claims it to be. He has no sense of imagination, no firm standpoint on current ethical issues in the legal world, and no idea how to craft a suspense novel. Personally, I'd rather . . .' ". Pausing, he began to flick his pencil against the table, searching for the right words. " 'I'd rather . . .' Oh yeah! 'I'd rather gouge my eyes out with railroad spikes than read this horrible novel again.' Bloody brilliant!"
Throwing the pencil across the room, Spike sat back on the couch, smirking at his genius. He had been laboring the past two hours, desperately trying to pan his newest read, "Blizzard Sunrise", without being too harsh. That hadn't been working out, so he gave up and let loose with the trademark sarcasm and wit that made him the most popular literary critic for the LA Times.
For the first two years of his new, human life, Spike had no idea what he was going to do for a living. Xander had been kind enough to give him a job in construction until he got on his feet, but it wasn't enough. Spike knew he needed a job.
It all changed when he found an ad in the local Sunnydale paper, asking the public's opinion on a new book. Spike had read the novel, and because he had writing experience during his first human years, he decided to give it a go. The Sunnydale Post published his review. But someone from the LA Times read his review then offered him a writing job one week later.
Under the name of Will Summers, Spike spent the next seven years writing from the comfort of his living room. Because he had no desire to move, and because the Times were willing to accept anything to get him on staff, Spike was allowed to work from home. And, although he didn't mention it during the interview, Spike was still anxious in sunlight.
Being a human wasn't THAT bad of a situation, although Spike wasn't sure if he was technically a human. When he was turned back, he retained all of his demon abilities: the strength, the speed, and the senses. It was like he was still a vampire, only he now had a heartbeat, could have children and go into the daylight. No more drinking blood, no more cross or holy water phobia.
Kicking his heels onto the coffee table, Spike turned his attention to the TV. Thirty people dead in a gym. No suspects, no intention known. Buffy had called him earlier, asking him to watch and call if anything new came out. So for the past hour, he had been passively watching.
"Bint," he muttered as the reporter repeated the facts for the zillionth time. He hated the way reporters would fill up the interrupted schedule "news time" by blandly re-telling the story.
But his attitude changed when the screen changed, showing pictures of the crime scene. Somewhere in his new-beating heart, he still had a soft spot for gory violence. "The Aerobic Massacre", as it was now dubbed, reminded him of a little incident in Paris during the 20s. Smiling softly to himself, he remembered walking into the crowded boutique, knowing that not one person would exit alive.
Suddenly, he frowned. It all seemed a little TOO familiar. Like someone was replaying the past. As another gurney rolled by on the screen, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. This just wasn't right.
Shaking off the feeling, Spike quickly turned the TV off.
He wasn't telling anyone about that reaction. No one needed to know.
"Three candles, two petrified slugs, a bottle of stewed catrouver thumbs, and a candy bar. Anything else?" When the customer shook his head, Anya continued. "Your total is $17.93." The cash was exchanged, and the items placed in a sack. "Thank you, and please come again!"
Closing the register, Anya grinned. It was noon, so all the potential customers were at lunch, but it didn't phase her. The Magic Box had been buzzing for hours. All the shoppers, roaming about, bringing in more money.
A few remained in the store, slowly grazing through the items. Two middle- aged women, regulars in the shop, were with Giles in the charmed object area, discussing the myth of the jade butterfly. Tara was helping a teenage boy look on the Internet to see if he had been cursed with a love spell. A younger woman and an older man were looking through the library. And Gillian was in the loft, grudgingly explaining the difference in incense to a newlywed couple.
Tucking a strand of her light-brown hair behind her ear, Anya smiled up at her pre-teen daughter. Gillian responded with a quick scowl.
Anya knew she hated working at the Magic Box during the summer. She would rather be off with her friends; those high pitched chatty things, Katelyn and Jamie. But she had a responsibility. She had developing powers, and just like Laila, needed to be in constant contact with these ideas.
Adverting her attention away, Anya noticed that the young woman from the book section was nervously making her way to the cash register.
"Um . . . I was wondering if you could help me?" the young dark-blonde woman asked, playing with the hem of her shirt.
Smiling brightly, Anya straightened up. "Yes, I can help you! I own the Magic Box, so it is in my job description to help customers! How may I help you?"
"Well," she leaned in, looking back at the older man in the library; "I wanted to know if I could . . . talk to Buffy Summers?"
Her bright smile slightly faded. *Oh, not a customer.*
"Buffy Summers? She's not available at the moment."
The girl looked back at the man, and he shrugged a response. It gave Anya a chance to examine the girl's aura. A light purple glow radiated from her body, meaning she had grown up too fast while little white sparks shot off, indicating some inner turmoil or excitement.
She turned back, giving a half smile. "When will Miss Summers be available? When's closing time?"
"We close on Fridays at five."
Anya watched the older man quickly exit the building, then the young blonde followed, not before stopping briefly. "Tell Miss Summers that I will meet her at closing time."
"But who are . . ." asked the retired vengeance demon, stopping when the door closed behind the girl.
*Stupid loiterers. Always hanging around, not buying anything.*
Frowning, Anya headed to the backroom.
It had been a lie. Buffy had been in the backroom the whole time.
When Buffy had come to work at the Magic Box, she had made it clear that she would NOT deal with customers. She reminded everyone about her past experiences in the workplace, and wished for something a little less demanding.
So, Anya and Giles gave her the task of maintaining the online Magic Box, taking in orders and filling them. And to her surprise, Buffy found that the job wasn't that hard. It was only taking things from one column, putting them in another, and adding on a ten percent shipping charge. Nothing boring, like the Doublemeat Palace, trashy, like bartending, or enraging, like working in the store.
Also, Buffy babysat the kids in the backroom. Early on, the personnel of the store learned that letting children exist in the shop area made customers want to leave. Very quickly.
For the moment, they were all behaving. Derek and Ryan were at the desk, playing video games on another computer and laughing at the cartoon violence. Dylan and Laila, the tomboy and princess respectively, were busy drawing with Paul on the floor, not fighting as usual. As for Bridget, she slept on the pallet in the corner.
Buffy looked back at the computer screen. Someone in Cleveland had ordered sixteen bunches of dried cat tongues. *Gross.*
"Hey Buffy?" a voice asked from the door. It was Anya, peaking in.
"What is it?"
Stepping over the drawers, Anya crouched down to Buffy.
"Someone came in a few seconds ago, asking for you. I told the girl you were busy. I didn't want her to interrupt you if it wasn't important. She's coming back at closing time."
"Do you know what she wants?"
Anya chucked. "Nope, not a clue. All I know is that I'm hungry." She turned to the kids, drawing their attention. "How about we get sandwiches from the deli today!"
In the blink of an eye, the mob of children ran out of the room, leaving Anya, Buffy, and the sleeping three-year-old.
"Get me a turkey hoagie, no Mayo. I'll stay with the little one," laughed Buffy. Anya patted her on the back, then left the room.
Returning to her work, Buffy forgot everything else. She had to finish these orders before four, or else she'd have twice the amount to do tomorrow.
The door opened again. Looking away from the computer screen, Buffy saw Laila come into the room.
"Hey Laila-Baila, what's going on? Didn't you go with the others?"
Grinning, the little redhead came up next to Buffy. "Nah. Gillian was going with us, and she's in a bad mood today. She's a butthole when she's mean, Aunt Buffy."
"Don't call her that!" Buffy exclaimed, trying to hold back a laugh. *Ah, to be thirteen again.* "You know she can't help it!"
Laila sighed. "I know. But now I get to spend time with my most favoritist butt-kicking aunt!"
The two warmly embraced. Buffy always had a soft spot for her sweet niece. She had, after all, been one of the reasons why she had stayed so many years ago.
But as the two hugged, Buffy felt the girl tense up suddenly, as if a bolt of lightning had shot through her skin. Pulling away, she looked to see if anything was wrong with the child.
Laila's pale face was blank, her eyes becoming two black orbs.
"Honey, is everything ok?" She began to panic, wondering if she should call for help.
In a whisper only Buffy could here, Laila spoke before the trance broke. Before she went back to normal, as if nothing had happened. What she said chilled Buffy's blood.
"When the time comes, they will betray us."
Rating: R- there's nothing really bad in this chapter. Well, except for . . . see above.
Summary: Sequel to "Exit Stage Left". The Scoobies and their children battle against an impending apocalypse, their own demons, and an uncertain future.
Author's Notes: I am so sorry for the delay. School bites ass majorly! Thank Goddess it's over! Here's an extra long chapter to apologize, and as my present to the world for the holidays. I didn't know where I was going with this, but thanks to my muse Anyanka Faith, I know! *sings* I once was lost, but now I'm found! Ugh, that's quite enough! Hope you enjoy! Have a happy capitalistic-driven holiday! I know I will!
PS: Do you know what? I don't know how I survived this long without watching a Kevin Smith movie! The man is a bonified genius! Jay and Silent Bob are my heroes. They're like Rosencrantz and Guildenstern meet Abbott and Costello. Or Cheech and Chong meet Beavis and Butthead. Anyway, I borrowed the above "fuck rap" from Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. And the description I just gave them is from Chasing Amy. Someone please stop me!
Chapter Four- A Change in the Wind
It could all be described in one phrase, spoken so eloquently by Gillian.
"Well that's just . . . icky!"
Shushing the child, Tara turned the volume up on the portable TV. She and Giles, Anya, Buffy, and the kids sat in silence, watching the scene. Although the Magic Box should have opened half an hour ago, the workers remained in the Scooby Conference Room, not caring a bit.
On the television, a reporter for Sunnydale 5 News, about thirty years old and quite frazzled, looked down at her notes, then back to the camera.
"For those of you just tuning in, officials have confirmed that all thirty are dead." She turned her head, looking at the crime scene. Sunnydale Athletic Gym, just behind her, was swamped with ambulances, police cars, reporters, and spectators. "Here is a recap: At four-thirteen this morning, 911 dispatch received a call that someone inside the Sunnydale Gym had, quote "torn the insides" out of a trainer. When police arrived at the scene ten minutes later, all thirty gym members and employees were found dead."
Then, the screen flashed a view of the gym front. Large glass windows, once spotless, were smeared with blood, oozing down in streaks. Another flash, and there was a close up of a body bag, hoisted by two emergency response members, being put into the ambulance.
Waiting for her cue, the reporter continued. "Before officials arrived on the scene, there were reports of at least five decapitated bodies, six other bodies with the skin removed, and various body parts strewn about the building. There is no confirmation or denial of this rumor. Also in speculation are who did this, and why the massacre was performed. The mastermind could lie among the victims, or might have fled the scene before officials arrived." Grimacing as she glanced once again at the spectacle, the reporter signed off, promising an update when new information arrived.
Sitting up, Giles clicked the TV off, as the group sat in silence.
"So," Buffy began, looking down at the Formica table, "Any thoughts, Giles?"
He shrugged. "I don't quite know. This couldn't be some random attack."
"Demon gang?" Anya blurted out, simultaneously price-checking amulets.
"I don't know."
Tara sat up, stretching her arms above her head. "So, research party tonight? I'll call Willow and ask her to pick up pizza."
Anya followed suit. "I'll get a hold of Xander. He's working near there and could check it out around lunch."
"Oh, Spike can watch from home in case anything else happens!" Buffy stood, and ran out of the conference room before anyone else could get to the phone. Tara and Anya followed, proclaiming they had first dibs.
Still in the room, Giles slowly put the small TV away. He turned, looking into the faces of all seven kids.
"Uncle Giles," sighed Gillian, resting her head on her arm, "There's not going to be a research party tonight, is there?"
"Yes, apparently there is," he answered, taking off his glasses to clean them. "Why do you ask?"
Rolling her eyes, she flopped on the table. "I WAS supposed to spend the night at my friend Katelyn's house, but I guess that's not going to happen!"
Not answering the sullen teenager, Giles exited the room. While he went to the front door, he racked his brain for possibilities. As Anya pointed out, it could have been a demon gang. Or a ritual sacrifice. Or, against his better judgement, it could have just been a random killing.
He jolted out of his thought when he noticed a pair of eyes staring at him through the Magic Box's glass door. Fourteen pairs of eyes to be exact. A crowd was gathered outside, waiting for the doors to be opened.
"This is going to be a long day," he sighed, pulling out his keys to unlock the door.
"Hmmm . . . let's see. 'Jacob Namwen's novel is best described as expensive toilet paper, rather than the great literary masterpiece he claims it to be. He has no sense of imagination, no firm standpoint on current ethical issues in the legal world, and no idea how to craft a suspense novel. Personally, I'd rather . . .' ". Pausing, he began to flick his pencil against the table, searching for the right words. " 'I'd rather . . .' Oh yeah! 'I'd rather gouge my eyes out with railroad spikes than read this horrible novel again.' Bloody brilliant!"
Throwing the pencil across the room, Spike sat back on the couch, smirking at his genius. He had been laboring the past two hours, desperately trying to pan his newest read, "Blizzard Sunrise", without being too harsh. That hadn't been working out, so he gave up and let loose with the trademark sarcasm and wit that made him the most popular literary critic for the LA Times.
For the first two years of his new, human life, Spike had no idea what he was going to do for a living. Xander had been kind enough to give him a job in construction until he got on his feet, but it wasn't enough. Spike knew he needed a job.
It all changed when he found an ad in the local Sunnydale paper, asking the public's opinion on a new book. Spike had read the novel, and because he had writing experience during his first human years, he decided to give it a go. The Sunnydale Post published his review. But someone from the LA Times read his review then offered him a writing job one week later.
Under the name of Will Summers, Spike spent the next seven years writing from the comfort of his living room. Because he had no desire to move, and because the Times were willing to accept anything to get him on staff, Spike was allowed to work from home. And, although he didn't mention it during the interview, Spike was still anxious in sunlight.
Being a human wasn't THAT bad of a situation, although Spike wasn't sure if he was technically a human. When he was turned back, he retained all of his demon abilities: the strength, the speed, and the senses. It was like he was still a vampire, only he now had a heartbeat, could have children and go into the daylight. No more drinking blood, no more cross or holy water phobia.
Kicking his heels onto the coffee table, Spike turned his attention to the TV. Thirty people dead in a gym. No suspects, no intention known. Buffy had called him earlier, asking him to watch and call if anything new came out. So for the past hour, he had been passively watching.
"Bint," he muttered as the reporter repeated the facts for the zillionth time. He hated the way reporters would fill up the interrupted schedule "news time" by blandly re-telling the story.
But his attitude changed when the screen changed, showing pictures of the crime scene. Somewhere in his new-beating heart, he still had a soft spot for gory violence. "The Aerobic Massacre", as it was now dubbed, reminded him of a little incident in Paris during the 20s. Smiling softly to himself, he remembered walking into the crowded boutique, knowing that not one person would exit alive.
Suddenly, he frowned. It all seemed a little TOO familiar. Like someone was replaying the past. As another gurney rolled by on the screen, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. This just wasn't right.
Shaking off the feeling, Spike quickly turned the TV off.
He wasn't telling anyone about that reaction. No one needed to know.
"Three candles, two petrified slugs, a bottle of stewed catrouver thumbs, and a candy bar. Anything else?" When the customer shook his head, Anya continued. "Your total is $17.93." The cash was exchanged, and the items placed in a sack. "Thank you, and please come again!"
Closing the register, Anya grinned. It was noon, so all the potential customers were at lunch, but it didn't phase her. The Magic Box had been buzzing for hours. All the shoppers, roaming about, bringing in more money.
A few remained in the store, slowly grazing through the items. Two middle- aged women, regulars in the shop, were with Giles in the charmed object area, discussing the myth of the jade butterfly. Tara was helping a teenage boy look on the Internet to see if he had been cursed with a love spell. A younger woman and an older man were looking through the library. And Gillian was in the loft, grudgingly explaining the difference in incense to a newlywed couple.
Tucking a strand of her light-brown hair behind her ear, Anya smiled up at her pre-teen daughter. Gillian responded with a quick scowl.
Anya knew she hated working at the Magic Box during the summer. She would rather be off with her friends; those high pitched chatty things, Katelyn and Jamie. But she had a responsibility. She had developing powers, and just like Laila, needed to be in constant contact with these ideas.
Adverting her attention away, Anya noticed that the young woman from the book section was nervously making her way to the cash register.
"Um . . . I was wondering if you could help me?" the young dark-blonde woman asked, playing with the hem of her shirt.
Smiling brightly, Anya straightened up. "Yes, I can help you! I own the Magic Box, so it is in my job description to help customers! How may I help you?"
"Well," she leaned in, looking back at the older man in the library; "I wanted to know if I could . . . talk to Buffy Summers?"
Her bright smile slightly faded. *Oh, not a customer.*
"Buffy Summers? She's not available at the moment."
The girl looked back at the man, and he shrugged a response. It gave Anya a chance to examine the girl's aura. A light purple glow radiated from her body, meaning she had grown up too fast while little white sparks shot off, indicating some inner turmoil or excitement.
She turned back, giving a half smile. "When will Miss Summers be available? When's closing time?"
"We close on Fridays at five."
Anya watched the older man quickly exit the building, then the young blonde followed, not before stopping briefly. "Tell Miss Summers that I will meet her at closing time."
"But who are . . ." asked the retired vengeance demon, stopping when the door closed behind the girl.
*Stupid loiterers. Always hanging around, not buying anything.*
Frowning, Anya headed to the backroom.
It had been a lie. Buffy had been in the backroom the whole time.
When Buffy had come to work at the Magic Box, she had made it clear that she would NOT deal with customers. She reminded everyone about her past experiences in the workplace, and wished for something a little less demanding.
So, Anya and Giles gave her the task of maintaining the online Magic Box, taking in orders and filling them. And to her surprise, Buffy found that the job wasn't that hard. It was only taking things from one column, putting them in another, and adding on a ten percent shipping charge. Nothing boring, like the Doublemeat Palace, trashy, like bartending, or enraging, like working in the store.
Also, Buffy babysat the kids in the backroom. Early on, the personnel of the store learned that letting children exist in the shop area made customers want to leave. Very quickly.
For the moment, they were all behaving. Derek and Ryan were at the desk, playing video games on another computer and laughing at the cartoon violence. Dylan and Laila, the tomboy and princess respectively, were busy drawing with Paul on the floor, not fighting as usual. As for Bridget, she slept on the pallet in the corner.
Buffy looked back at the computer screen. Someone in Cleveland had ordered sixteen bunches of dried cat tongues. *Gross.*
"Hey Buffy?" a voice asked from the door. It was Anya, peaking in.
"What is it?"
Stepping over the drawers, Anya crouched down to Buffy.
"Someone came in a few seconds ago, asking for you. I told the girl you were busy. I didn't want her to interrupt you if it wasn't important. She's coming back at closing time."
"Do you know what she wants?"
Anya chucked. "Nope, not a clue. All I know is that I'm hungry." She turned to the kids, drawing their attention. "How about we get sandwiches from the deli today!"
In the blink of an eye, the mob of children ran out of the room, leaving Anya, Buffy, and the sleeping three-year-old.
"Get me a turkey hoagie, no Mayo. I'll stay with the little one," laughed Buffy. Anya patted her on the back, then left the room.
Returning to her work, Buffy forgot everything else. She had to finish these orders before four, or else she'd have twice the amount to do tomorrow.
The door opened again. Looking away from the computer screen, Buffy saw Laila come into the room.
"Hey Laila-Baila, what's going on? Didn't you go with the others?"
Grinning, the little redhead came up next to Buffy. "Nah. Gillian was going with us, and she's in a bad mood today. She's a butthole when she's mean, Aunt Buffy."
"Don't call her that!" Buffy exclaimed, trying to hold back a laugh. *Ah, to be thirteen again.* "You know she can't help it!"
Laila sighed. "I know. But now I get to spend time with my most favoritist butt-kicking aunt!"
The two warmly embraced. Buffy always had a soft spot for her sweet niece. She had, after all, been one of the reasons why she had stayed so many years ago.
But as the two hugged, Buffy felt the girl tense up suddenly, as if a bolt of lightning had shot through her skin. Pulling away, she looked to see if anything was wrong with the child.
Laila's pale face was blank, her eyes becoming two black orbs.
"Honey, is everything ok?" She began to panic, wondering if she should call for help.
In a whisper only Buffy could here, Laila spoke before the trance broke. Before she went back to normal, as if nothing had happened. What she said chilled Buffy's blood.
"When the time comes, they will betray us."
