A Buffy the Vampire Slayer/CSI crossover. This story is a sequel to "Should Have Gone To Vegas..." and "Manhunters." which involve Angel, Riley Finn, and other characters from BtVS and Angel. It is set between Buffy Seasons 6 and 7, and contains spoilers for Buffy season 6 and my earlier stories.

All characters are the intellectual property of their respective creators, film companies, etc.; this story may not be sold or distributed on a profit-making basis.

I'm British, so's my spelling. Live with it.

WORK IN PROGRESS - Feedback is greatly appreciated, especially on anything that looks like a continuity or factual error.


Slayer, Las Vegas

By Marcus L. Rowland

VI

With nearly a year of lead time since Angel had reminded him that vampires exist, Captain Brass had made some useful connections and knew how to access some unusual equipment. Currently a piece of that equipment was 2700 feet above Buffy and roughly the same distance North, pretending to monitor traffic. Borrowed from the Air National Guard, and flown by police pilots who were Guard reservists, the Pave Low helicopter took off before Sara and the Summers sisters left headquarters, and could stay in the air all night. With broad rotor blades and a shrouded vector thrust fan it was also relatively quiet, barely audible above the traffic at ground level. Normally its armaments included mini-guns and an assortment of bombs and missiles; for this mission they were replaced by four computer-controlled gyro-stabilised thermal imaging and image intensifier cameras with thousand-millimetre lenses, linked to video recorders and encrypted transmitters. The cameraman could see Buffy's face clearly enough to recognise her from a photo. "Air three-niner to base, Elvis has left the building, heading North-West. Locking cameras onto Elvis."

"Copy. Shadow and report, maintain your distance."

"Stopped at a street lamp, looking at something... a map, I think. Now heading downtown, fast walk."

"Copy. Stay on Elvis, watch out for any groupies."

"Copy... Air three-niner, we have groupies. Say again, we have groupies."

"Copy. What have you got?"

"Three of them, look like college kids, hanging way back. Think they came from the adjacent apartment building, number 1249, someone must have been watching out for Elvis. Okay visually, but thermal imaging is way off. Almost no heat signature."

"Copy. We'll get a ground unit out to check 1249 once Elvis has left the area."

"Elvis has reached the park. Starting to run... I make that fifteen... twenty... twenty-five miles per hour. They're out in the open, can't see any civilians nearby. Groupies are following, closing. Elvis is stopping and turning, drawing some sort of weapon... sword, I think."

"Copy."

"Groupies fanning out. Now five, say again five groupies, all abnormal body heat. Elvis is engag... holy crap."

"Say again, three-niner."

"Scratch three groupies, Elvis is now pursuing four and... scratch four, Elvis is pursuing groupy five. What the hell happened to them? They just vanished when she hit them... Elvis has closed groupy five, looks like hand to hand combat.. Groupy five is down. Elvis has him. Looks like they're talking... Elvis is standing back, Groupy five is running. Shall I follow?"

"Negative, three-niner, stay with Elvis, maintain radio discipline. Is Elvis pursuing?"

"Negative. Continuing on original route."

In the control room Brass watched the monitors intently, knowing that his career might be on the line if things got out of hand. "I knew that the Slayers were good," he said to one of his lieutenants, "but that's goddamned awesome. Looks like she's letting the small fry go to spread the word."

"Risky. They might be working for the main hostiles."

"Probably are. I think she wants to spread the word that doing that's a really dumb idea."

"Any idea where she's headed?"

"She said something about hitting some bars. Places where the monsters hang out."

"That ought to be interesting."

"Oh yeah..."

* * * * *

"All units, disturbance reported at Clancy's Bar and Grill, nine-two-seven east..."

"Brass to all units, operational override code one-niner-niner. Do not repeat not repond to disturbance..."

* * * * *

"Air three-niner to base, Elvis has entered another building, I make that Luigi's Pizza Palace and Cocktail Lounge, corner of eighty-seven and... Okay, same as last time, several customers leaving in a hurry. Five through the door, all warm, three abnormal thermal images out through the window, which is totalled. Elvis is following. One dusted... two gone... talking to the third... third is trying to fight... scratch three. Elvis is going back inside."

* * * * *

"Hi. Sorry to disturb your evening. Some of you know who I am, I think the rest of you can guess. For the benefit of the slow of thinking, I'm the Slayer."

Buffy was shorter than anyone else in the bar. She still dominated the room effortlessly.

"Now you're probably wondering why I'm here, rather than sitting at home watching Passions or patrolling the Hellmouth. The answer is that someone who lives here has made me a little annoyed. Don't drool venom when I'm talking, it's gross."

One of the customers wiped its mouth apologetically and tried to retract its protruding jaw.

"That's better. Now then, some of you will have seen the story about the murdered children on the news. If you have any sense you'll know that's vampire work; to be precise, the work of the Brides of Dracula. As far as I can tell they've done it specifically to bring me here, and I'd guess that most of you won't be too happy with that."

"What's it to us?" asked someone who looked more or less human apart from bleary yellow eyes.

"Right now the only reason there aren't a dozen cops here is that the police have given me a free run. They're getting ready to crack down on the vampires in a big way... do you really think you won't get caught in the crossfire? This is your warning, guys, either this one gets settled fast or there won't be any bars left that serve your kind, no butchers that keep bags of blood or brains or eyeballs and don't ask questions, and the magic shops will drop the yak urine and Dagon spheres and go back to selling card tricks and ouija boards. Don't try to leave, I'm not finished yet."

Buffy threw a stake, almost without looking. It pinned a demoness's sleeve to the bar. She hastily sat down.

"Now if someone gets me the location of the Brides and details of their plans, and it happens really, really fast, I may not have to come back. I can't guarantee that the police won't pay a visit, because the Brides have them angry, but you can probably get past that if you're careful and keep the place clean. Right now I am just a little annoyed. If anyone wants to see what I'm like when I'm angry just say the word and I'll be happy to demonstrate. Or you can ask that pile of dust in the corner, or the three outside, if you're good with a ouija board. Any questions?"

The barman, who looked human, timidly raised a hand. "I don't know anything, but if someone does, how should they reach you? And is there a reward?"

Buffy threw him a card. "Here. It's the police hotline for this case. And no, there's no reward, except the reward of being good citizens and seeing me go back to Sunnydale and out of your lives. Does anyone think the reward is inadequate... thought not."

* * * * *

Buffy got back to Sara's apartment block just after one. As she crossed the car-park a voice called her:

"Miss Summers? We met this afternoon. Warrick Brown, CSI."

"Yeah, I remember."

"There's been some trouble here. Nobody's hurt, but the apartment isn't secure. Sara and your sister have been moved to a safe house outside town."

"Okay... did they take my bags, my equipment?"

"Yes, they've got everything."

"Okay... you lead the way, I'll follow in my Jeep."

"Better not - we think they might know it. I'll give you a lift, we'll get it picked up in the morning."

"Okay... Let's go, then."

TO BE CONTINUED