Buffy paid the cab driver at 11:35 p.m. She slowly walked through the sliding front doors, more than a little unnerved as her Slayer powers faltered and failed as she crossed the threshold. She didn't feel normal exactly – at least, as much as she could remember how normal felt. It was more like she had been wrapped tight in cheesecloth, and nothing supernatural could leak out. Or maybe that was just the granny corset she was wearing, which was stuffed with hand towels to plump her up. She fought the urge to adjust her butt.

"Could you tell me where I can find Convention Room B?" she asked the girl at the front desk. The girl jumped half out of her skin. "You're here for the G-Gathering? Down that hall and to your left after the elevator." She cringed back out of grabbing range. Evidently, even vampires who met at the Marriott still had a reputation to uphold.

Buffy had to stop by the elevator to take a couple of deep inhales. She could do this. She'd go in, ignore the fact she was surrounded by hundreds of her hated enemies, find tall, dark, and curly, follow him, beat the unliving shit out of him until he coughed up the book, stake him, and then go home a hero.

If only she could wait outside for him. But what if he left by another exit? She couldn't take the chance. And what if he wasn't even here? Okay, enough with the what-ifs. Less talking, more walking.

Buffy did a double-take at the sign beside Convention Room B as she pushed open the doors:

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The Gathering

:0)=

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She wasn't in Kansas anymore, that was obvious. She wasn't sure what she had expected at a vampire convention, but a DJ? Playing Ricky Martin singing "She Bangs"? Okay, what the hell?

Buffy hung back by the door for a moment, holding her breath. They didn't all stop talking to stare at her, which was a good sign. The room was large enough for about 500, and Buffy guessed the crowd was close to that number already. Round tables with gorgeous centerpieces of pink, white, and red carnations and roses dotted the room. There was a dance floor to her right. That's where the DJ had set up. He was black, laden with gold chains, bopping along to Ricky.

The music was suddenly cut short. The DJ passed a microphone to a dapper gent standing on the platform in a Regis-inspired dark grey suit and tie. He tapped the microphone with his index finger. "Testing. Can you still hear me?" he asked them. A few yelled in the affirmative. "Just a couple more announcements. First, I hope you're having a great time at the best Gathering EVER!" Everyone clapped and cheered. "We want to keep it that way, so please, if anyone is caught abusing the nice hotel staff, they will be escorted out and dealt with rather severely in the parking lot. This is your last warning, folks.

"Also, just a reminder, this is a nonsmoking facility. So if you must – and you'll see me out there too, ha ha – step outside to have a puff. Be on your best behavior, though, because you are in the Slayer's hometown!" The crowd booed enthusiastically. Buffy's temples started to pulse in a pre-Excedrin-headachy sort of way.

"Calm down, calm down," he continued. "Hey, how many Slayers does it take to screw in a light bulb? One, because everyone knows she has to do it alooone." They all roared. "Anyway, our servers will be coming around soon with steaks and garlic bread for everyone." Groans from the audience. "Kidding! This is harder than it looks, you know! But we do have a dessert table set up at the back, so enjoy."

It occurred then to Buffy that not all vampires were created equal. She spent the majority of her time dusting vamps that had existed for mere days, sometimes only hours. They tended to be cocky, grumpy, and stupid. And her experience with older vampires consisted mainly of the fab four of Spike, Angel – or, Angel, Spike, she meant – Darla, and Dru. As for all the other vampires, of all ages, from all over the world? Uncharted territory. Tonight she was getting a firsthand look at how different some vampires could be. How surprisingly...dorky. What next? She feared that at any second they were going to pull out the...

"Oh, one more thing! Get your singing voices ready, because in about an hour you're all going to get the chance to karaoke."

Never mind. Well, they could swing from the chandeliers for all she cared, she just wanted to get her hands on the vampire she'd come here to find. She figured she might as well start at the back of the room, and work her way forward. That way she could score something chocolate from the dessert table ASAP.

She had brownies in her line of vision when she heard a voice to her left. "What do we have here?" Buffy looked down at a striking redhead sitting at one of the tables. "Oh, do come join us, darling." She grabbed Buffy's hand and pulled her into the chair next to her. Luckily, Buffy's hands were ice-cold due to nerves, so no problem there.

Buffy filled the last vacant seat at the table. Seven ravishing beauties wearing Valentino and Stella McCartney, and dripping diamonds and snobbery, gave Buffy the once-over. They exchanged disbelieving glances and had a nice little laugh at her expense. Buffy knew their kind well. This really was like a high school reunion. Even if they thought it was beneath them, they'd come to this lame-o event just to gloat over how much better they were than the other vampires. Some things were universal, it seemed.

"And where are you from, honey?" a tall blond in pink silk asked Buffy between nibbles of the creme brulee in front of her.

Buffy self-consciously pushed her glasses up. "Um...Canada. Which is north of California. Eh."

"Is that why you're dressed like that? Because you're Canadian?" another asked her.

"Yes," said Buffy, "it is. This is very traditional Canadian garb."

"Poor Canada. No wonder Shania left."

Buffy was entirely humiliated. They were dressed to the nines, and she...well, she was a nine dressed up as a three. If only Cordelia were here; she would have had them all sobbing in two minutes flat.

Buffy started to get up, then thought twice about it. Even if she was the ugly, bitter duckling at the table, she was now part of a group, and that could only help deflect attention from her. She resigned herself to their cattiness as she searched for curly brown hair.

But the women had already forgotten her. They were once again busy prattling on and on and on, as Buffy soon discovered. Typical girl vampire talk. Victims. Schemes. Boy vampires.

A tuxed waiter, surely not part of the regular hotel staff, wheeled a cart to a stop in front of their table. The cart was filled with wine bottles set under hot lamps. "Fresh blood? Anyone?" he asked them. He filled their wine glasses as he flirted with the other women. He did not speak to Buffy.

"Do you have any beer around here?" she asked the waiter. "As a chaser for this great blood?"

He barely glanced at her. "Actually, I do. He reached under the cart's skirting and pulled out a can for her. "If you want more, there's an open bar over there." He motioned over his shoulder.

Buffy popped the top and took a grateful swig as one of her new best friends resumed her interminable chatter to the others. "So anyway, I says to him, 'Don't think I don't know what it is you've been sucking,' and he had the nerve to..." She trailed off. Buffy looked at her, wondering what miracle could have shut her up.

The woman was gawking, dumbstruck, towards the front of the room. She held a forgotten forkful of cake next to her mouth. Buffy thought that only happened in movies. What was up there? She twisted in her chair, straining to see, but couldn't because of the crowd. Suddenly, she didn't have to see.

The whispers started beside her, behind her, everywhere. "Look! I can't believe it!"

"Do you see that?" Shocked. Glad.

"It's him! It's William the Bloody!"

Their voices rose and washed over Buffy in an unholy chorus. "It's William...it's Spike...it's Spike!"

Thank God there was an open bar. Buffy chugalugged her beer. She was going to need more than that before she was ready to see Spike in here. Lots more. She stood to get seconds. The crowd shifted – everyone was turning to get a look. And ready or not, there he was.