Well, there's a new face, he thought. Alive, too. He watched as she knelt in front of two freshly dug graves. In one hand, she clutched a wad of kleenex. In the other, she had a death-grip on a pointy piece of wood of which he had no desire to make the acquaintance. Still, something was eerily familiar about her. His eyes darted between the two piles of freshly laid earth. One was much smaller than the other. He glanced up to read the headstones.

Dennis Arthur Murphy, beloved husband. The man was barely 30 when he died. The other stone read Grace Anne Murphy, treasured daughter. The child was only two. The name struck something deep within him and he struggled to reach into the recesses of his mind. Grace Anne Benson. His youngest sister had been seven when she died. She was the last of his three sisters and the final blow to his mother's faltering health.

"Take care of her, Denny," the woman whispered. She stood and wiped the dirt from her hands and knees. Spike looked her over realising that she was wearing a military uniform. Dress blues. Her hair was tucked neatly under her cap. She turned and walked over to a small bench just a few feet from the graves and sat stiffly. He recognized her posture. She was keeping watch.

He walked out from the shadows and cautiously approached her, not sure why he was drawn to her. He could tell that she sensed his presence, but she said nothing. Not even when he sat beside her.

"Cemetery's not exactly a safe place for a lady at night, Pet," he told her.

She tightened her grip on the stake, but didn't move from her spot on the bench.

"As you can see, I'm not exactly a lady," she countered.

He couldn't help but crack a smile. She was a determined bint. Not an ounce of fear rolling off her. Just sheer will and determination.

"You just lose someone?" he asked.

"My husband. And my daughter."

Her eyes remained fixed on the two graves.

"All kind of nasties out here at night, Pet. You really shouldn't be here alone," he repeated.

"I'm not alone. You're here."

And you should be running, he thought.

"That, I am," he agreed. "Uh, I'm William." He gave her his Christian name.

"William," she said with a small nod. She turned to him and offered her hand. "Katina."

If she noticed anything off about about him, she didn't let on even one bit. He released her hand and watched as her gaze returned to the two graves in front of her.

"Look like you're expecting someone," he said, looking around.

"Not if they know what's good for them," she replied. "The first few nights are the most crucial."

He knew exactly what she was doing. She was keeping watch. For vampires.

"Denny, I had him cremated. But I couldn't... she was just..." He watched her steel her resolve. "I just couldn't."

Most vampires had no desire to turn children, but that wasn't to say that it never happened. Dru had been one to take an interest in turning a few children in her time. Of course, Dru was clear off her bird and the things she did had never ceased to amaze him.

"Are you going to stay here all night, Pet?"

"Yes."

He looked over to her and made his decision.

"Then I will, too."