Chapter Eight

I am feeling generally quite resentful about having a babysitter on patrol. Sure, it's always a good thing to have some backup and it would make sense that werewolves make wicked fighters, but I swear to God, if Nick clicks his tongue at my vamp fighting strategies one more time, I will not be held accountable for my actions.

After our little altercation in the bar, we managed to strike an uneasy truce, mostly based on Nick's ability to stalk the vamps without needing to maintain line of sight, quite the useful little skill to have I feel. If it didn't come with the unfortunate side effects of a real hate-on for postmen and the inexplicable urge to piss against lampposts, I might even be tempted myself. As it is, I think I'll stick with the slayer-y goodness.

Our little moon lit stroll has been disgustingly uneventful so far, occasionally one of us will say something hateful to the other and the monotony of trailing something I can't see will be broken by flying barbs, but there are only so many dog related insults I can come up with under pressure before they start to sound repetitive so I've decided to exercise some rare restraint and am keeping mostly quiet.

Truth be told, it's because I'm saving my best material for later, Nick just isn't worth quite the same effort as Clay.

I have to give him his due though, he is an excessively effective pain in my ass, at the slightest sign of imperfection - he pounces and holds on for dear life.

I mean, a person walks into a lamppost one measly time on account of being distracted and all she get's for the next couple of hours are snide comments about so called enhanced senses. It's really infuriating is what it is. And he keeps insulting my hairstyle.

All in all, I'm starting to wonder if the inhabitants of Stonehaven might not actually thank me if I accidentally kill Nick and stuff him up a drainpipe, he is practically asking for it after all.

After he attempts to trip me up for the third time running, (vainly I might add - it's not like I'm stupid) I turn my full Slayer glare on him and all he does is snicker at me. I suppose I can't really blame him, apparently he's known Clay since they were kids, that kind of experience will probably desensitize you to almost anything.

"What?" That came out as more snarl than words. I wonder whether I might be pms-ing. It would explain the stronger than normal urge to do some serious violence.

"I asked you how we're going to kill these bloodsuckers when we find them," he says pouting at me. I hate men who pout, "I know they heal really rapidly and I honestly can't remember what Paige told us about killing them, so you got a plan? A serious one? None of that Holy Water bullshit."

Paige, I think she's the witch he's been prattling on about for the last aeon. Well, from what he's told me, their idea of witches sound pretty useless. Wait 'til I tell Red that apparently, she isn't even human - I can see it already, she'll probably go all black-eyed and veiny and turn me into something slimy. Note to self….get Andrew to relay the news.

But seriously, these people have some seriously skewed ideas of supernaturals other than themselves. Witches aside, I'm pretty sure I don't want to know anything detailed about vampires, at least not judging from the reaction I received when I asked Elena and Clayton; they mumbled something about skanky, leatherclad psychopaths (strong words I feel, coming from Clay in particular) and changed the subject. Elena just snapped her fingers at me and said something about reminding her to change her cell phone number…just what the hell does that have to do with vamps I ask you?

"Don't need a plan," I reply loftily, twirling a stake between my fingers, "vamps are easy, and I already told you how to kill them earlier only you were oh so busy being judgmental, remember? Incidentally, that was right before the unfortunate meeting of my knee and your groin, I'm sure the pain will ring a bell, want me to refresh your memory?"

Strangely enough, the only answer to that is a dark scowl in my direction; I wonder if it's something I said.

"Loads of things work on them, sunlight, decapitation, fire….what's so funny?"

He's laughing at me, and not even doing me the courtesy of pretending that he's choking on something such as, oh I don't know, his ginormous ego maybe?

"Ok, please don't hit me again, but have you ever actually gone up against a vampire? I mean a real one? Because I've met two and I have to say, neither of them seemed even slightly bothered by sunlight. In fact, Aaron came to talk to Jeremy about some Council stuff a couple of weeks ago and afterwards he went out into the garden to work on his tan so…" There he trails off; looking at me slightly pityingly as if I'm some sort of Girl Scout who's just had the last of her cookies stolen. I think I'd probably enjoy punching him some more, but I can keep my temper in check, just for a little while.

Stupid man person.

I suppose it's not his fault he doesn't understand what a Slayer really is, sometimes I don't get it myself, and hey – I'm living it! So, instead of going medieval on his ass and introducing his forehead to his colon, I take a couple of deep breaths and reply through my teeth.

"You're probably right, poor girly little me. Whoops I'm so blonde I'm almost Buffy!"

I spit the last bit with a little more venom than necessary and sigh, I guess someone's still not entirely over her Summers issues. Nick thankfully hasn't got a clue what I'm talking about because just he looks at me with his head leaning slightly to the side and asks in a puzzled tone of voice, "Is that California speak for stupid?"

Again, the urge to smack him takes a hold of me almost before I can beat it down and I swear I see my arm twitch slightly, but willpower wins out in the end and I just nod with a curt "Yup".

I think that maybe it's my sadistic side coming out to play but part of me is really hoping that upon introduction to my vamps, Nick'll experience a freak-out of colossal proportions, shriek like a girl and run straight home to sob into Clayton's sheets. Or maybe he'll accidentally get bitten, it's not like I can be everywhere at the same time, and if he can't be bothered to take my advice seriously, it probably won't be my fault if he get's eaten…as such.

Unfortunately I don't think this is very likely, despite the blatant disrespect the wolves are paying my obvious superiority (for example, not cowering when I bounce past, the bastards!) they all move with an elegance and assurance, in Clay's case blatant arrogance, that tells me they know how to handle themselves in a fight. Not really surprising when you think about it.

While I've been pondering such pleasant thoughts, we've been walking along in a tense silence, until Nick grabs me sharply by the arm and pulls me up short. This reminds me, we should really have a little chat about such things as 'Basic Rules when on Patrol with Faith': Number One - No Touching. Number Two - Still No Touching.

Nick has brought us up short in the mouth of a little alley, facing some sort of abandoned tenement building, - the windows are barred up but the front door is hanging off its hinges and there are no people about.

We left a generous amount of distance between ourselves and the vamps, seeing as Nick could track them there was no need for us to maintain line of sight so I guess they must have gone inside already. I hope I was right and they really did lead us to their nest, all this generous not beating on the wolf boy and relying on someone else to pick up the slack is just so severely out of character. Maybe I'm coming down with something? Such as the Plague perhaps? I only hope it's contagious.

"They went in there," whispers Nick in the dark, "maybe two, three minutes ago."

"Goodie," I whisper back, handing him a stake "right, take this and remember to aim for the heart. Don't let them rush you and there's no shame in screaming. Lose your stake and you're probably dead so you might want to try and hang on to it," Taking a deep breath, I make my way across the street to the waiting open door and into the darkness behind it, "Here goes."

I love the time before I go into battle. Those few moments where all I can feel is the adrenaline rushing through my system, my accentuated senses picking up the slightest sounds and signs of movement. I sometimes wonder what the few civilians who witness a Slayer in battle experience us as, now that there are more than just B and myself, I've had ample opportunity to watch Slayers spar, and I gotta say, we rock!

Nick and I have done a basic sweep of the abandoned building and have found nothing more untoward than a couple of used needles and a few empty bottles of paint-thinner. Clearly the previous tenants we're gentlemen of class and style…mustn't be sexist though, I'm sure there were ladies present also.

After we quietly searched the ground and first floor, Nick gestured towards the door to the basement, suspiciously new and sturdy in appearance. Clearly, your better vamps will repair their own damages, how thoughtful.

Pushing the stupid thing does absolutely no good, looks like it's locked from the inside or something, so I waste a few seconds pondering the mysteries of the shiny door - it really is quite special looking and I'd hate to scratch the paintwork…then again, why care?

With that thought, I toss a grin at Nick over my shoulder and kick the door in. Since I'm still looking at him, I see his eyes widen in surprise when the hinges give out and the door crashes inwards, and must admit I'm feeling pretty validated until I realise that the whole kicking thing was pretty much unnecessary as the stupid door would have opened if only I'd have had the sense to pull.

Right, moving swiftly onwards, let's pretend that was meant to happen.

"Well,' comes the dreaded soft whisper over my right shoulder, "I think it's safe to say the door is no longer a threat to humanity. Our job here is done!"

And then he giggles.

There really is nothing more irritating than people who laugh at their own retarded jokes. Briefly I consider counting backwards in Spanish, apparently it's supposed to help you get a reign on your anger, but then I remember that the only Spanish I know is "Quatro cervecas pronto por favour" and I'm not even entirely certain any of that is correct, so instead I opt for violence.

Right on cue, the first vampy henchmen appear at the bottom of the stairs that were revealed when I…opened…the door.

Unfortunately, my interruption only seems to warrant two minions, though the first one up the steps is mightily ugly, even where the usual standards are concerned and his looks aren't improved by the rhinestone vest-type thing he's wearing over a carpenter's shirt. Holy crap, I hope he died I that outfit, I'd hate to think there's a semi-naked Elvis fan out there somewhere, sobbing over the loss of his ensemble. Shuddering with mild distaste, I adopt a perky smile and in a bright chirpy voice commence with the quipping. Say what you want about B, she's right about one thing, not only do brainless pop-culture related remarks confuse and befuddle the undead, it also lends a much needed element of hilarity to an evening chocka-full with Slayage when the demon you just beheaded still wears a look of confusion at your earlier reference to Mary-Kate and Ashley.

"Hello there sir, I'm from the Neighbourhood Watch Association and I'm afraid that numerous reports of serious Health and Safety Violations on these premises have come to my attention. Persistant lingering smells, no lights in the hallways and will you just look at that door, I mean, can you say lawsuit?"

"Err…lawsuit?"

Rhinestone Vamp is still looking mildly perplexed when I lunge and stab him through the heart with my stake, one down – indeterminate number to go.

How I love my job.

The vamp behind his recently departed comrade is still moving up the stairs, propelled no doubt both by momentum and stupidity. He comes to a halt mere inches from me and stares at his former partner's leftovers with a mixture of confusion and…well, confusion. Clearly, he's not so bright.

"Dear God, will you look at that!" I shriek in a high falsetto, "that's got to be the worst dandruff problem I've ever seen!"

Before minion number two can come to his somewhat restricted senses, I make short work of him with a dash of holy water to the eyes, (sizzles nicely, as always) and another well placed stake to the chest.

Stepping deftly back to avoid the shower of ashes, I take advantage of the momentary lack of bad guys to turn around to face Nick and am very satisfied indeed to note that his jaw is hanging somewhere around his ankles.

Unfortunately, not literally.

One of my greatest assets (other than my fantastic rack of course) is my astounding lack of grace under pressure, so it is with great pleasure that I stick out my tongue at the befuddled werewolf before me, it's the least that he deserves.

"Nah nana nana na!" Call me juvenile, but I can't help but do a little dance at the top of the stairs, "Who's right about the vampires? That's right, ME! You know, I really hate having to stoop to this level, but oh yeah, I TOLD YOU SO! I think I've now sufficiently demonstrated that not only does Holy Water work, but I rock and you suck. Whoo me!"

The only response I get is a mild gurgling sound and a faint pointing motion at the two small piles of dust at my feet. Well, I guess it beat's screaming.

"Now what do you say we go clean out the rest of the vermin and then you can buy me dinner," Pausing slightly to take inventory of my weapons…three stakes and my stiletto in the boot - I continue, "Oh and Nick dear, do close your mouth."

Grinning at the still slightly gobsmacked looking werewolf, I turn and bound lightly down the basement steps, three at a time.

God, it's good to be me.