Apologies for the delay in getting this out. I write for a magazine where the production schedule is currently manic and over the past two weeks sleep has been a big priority for me. That plus I was all written out, being unable to even use words like corrugated and marmalade, to use an old Welsh joke of my mother's. This is the prelude to something I've been planning for a while. I hope I can pull it off. In the meantime, enjoy. Cymru Am Byth!
The piece of music wasn't terribly complex, but it needed a certain panache in the delivery. Hum, Oz thought, how do I play this? His hand sketched the first three chords, slowly at first and then again at a faster pace. Right. His other hand came down and he softly strummed the guitar before playing the piece through. Then he frowned and looked back at the score. Damn, that penultimate chord had been off. He ran through it again. This time he got it right, but he felt no happier about it. Sighing he strummed rather aimlessly and then quirked a smile at one of the notes. Sounded like the start of 'Love To Be Loved', he thought and paused, his hand poised over the strings again.
After a noiseless moment he reached up and, pulling the strap over his shoulder, put the guitar down before leaning back in his chair and staring out of the window. This was not an easy decision to make. He'd become a Scooby because Willow was one and he wanted to be with her. That had meant some fairly radical revisions in his view of the world. Admittedly he'd already had a crash course in the impossible, starting with the fact that he was a werewolf. Bit of a surprise that.
And now, it seemed, he could access the force. That was substantially more than just a surprise. Shock was the right word. Doubled by the fact that his werewolf side had used it. That was a nasty one.
Xander had formally offered to teach him the ways of the force. Ordinarily he would have thought hard and long about it and perhaps... well, maybe even turned the Jedi down. Xander had rather gone through the mill of secrecy about the whole thing and seemed to have made it his mission in life. That was cool, he knew where he was going. Oz hadn't done much forward planning in his life so far, other than when it came to Willow, the Dingoes and future college participation.
But the werewolf access to the force changed the paradigm. Changed everything. Admittedly the hairy side of him had only used it to open a window and hadn't choked anyone to death or persuaded them that these weren't the 'droids they were looking for. But if Xander hadn't been watching out that night, he might have escaped. Might have hurt someone. Might have killed someone.
That was the deep dark fear at the back of his head, the fear that he never let show. There was a killer in him, he knew, and he had to keep that side of himself caged. Literally. Three nights a month behind bars. And he would never forgive himself if he ever hurt someone when he wasn't in control of himself. Especially Willow.
Xander was doing some more study into the nature of werewolves, with the assistance of Giles, and had some ideas about the possibility of using meditation to keep the werewolf at bay at the right time, based on the writings of some Tibetan monks. That would be cool. Study of the force also meant study of meditation and he might be able to find a way to perhaps use the force to suppress the wolf. If he could...
Too many variables, he thought bitterly, too many unknowns. Damn it, as life wasn't complicated enough. He looked up and winced slightly as he saw the moon. It was waxing, as he had heard Giles call it, on the way to being full. Another week and it was lock up time again. What if he had a way out? It would take time, he knew. A lot of training as well. But... well, as his mother said, if you don't try you don't get. He had to try at least. Standing up he walked over to the window and firmly pulled the curtains together. He still had some time to think about it, Xander hadn't been too insistent on him agreeing to the training. But he had to make up his mind soon.
It was dark in the grotto, with the only light, faint as it was, coming from a trio of red candles placed around a skull in the centre of a complicated tracing of blood that looked like a pentagram with some very odd additional elements that would have given a human a headache just looking at it. Other bits seemed to pulse in and out of sight on a moment-by-moment basis. It looked, in short, thoroughly unpleasant. The skill looked even more unpleasant, all bone ridges, with a massive forehead that left the eye sockets deep in shadow, with a line carved in the bone to one side of one socket.
A mirror image of the skull, although one still living, faced it. The red-skinned face looked down at the skull and then snapped back up to stare at the air above the candles, where something was coalescing slowly out of the smoke. The demon shaman smiled briefly and then started to chant in a slow voice that combined determination and menace. The image in the smoke jerked abruptly and then focused slightly, leading the demon to nod. Then he turned to look at his companions. "Very soon now," he said. "We know soon."
"Good," said the leading figure, which was wearing a black robe that failed to cover his bony protrusions. One red hand balled into a fist. "We know, we kill."
There was a rumbling noise to one side and another demon stepped forward. "What about promise to her?"
Something that sounded like a cross between a snarl and a growl emerged from the leading figure. "Not care," he said. "We kill who killed Karvor then we do job. Not before. Not care about her and witches in San Francisco. Vengeance first."
The other demons in the room nodded in sequence. "Vengeance first," they echoed.
The shaman turned back to the skull and spoke in a sonorous voice, reciting a series of harsh words that made the symbols around the skull pulse faster and faster until a small ball of black light pulsed out of the skull and hung in the air. Another word from the shaman and it jumped upwards into the shapeless thing that was hanging in the air over the skull. There was a sharp crack and the thing collapsed in on itself to form an image of a dark-haired man with a set expression, holding a sword up.
"Remember him," said the leading demon. "We kill human who kill my brother. Kill him slowly."
Life could be good sometimes. She had redeemed her earlier mistakes – slight though they had been – with an inspired performance at the Hoskins trial. She had got the guilty son of a bitch off with not even a fine, not even a line of censure. She smiled as she looked out of the window. Maybe she was starting to catch up with Lindsey. That lousy little Texan was still Holland Manners' blue-eyed boy, but he hadn't been the person to turn the Hoskins account around. Nope, she had put the hours in and talked to the right witnesses and generally delivered.
Rumour had it that she would be the one to go to Sunnydale to re-negotiate the Arrangement with Wilkins. She hoped so. That would be the icing on the cake, the proof that she had overtaken Lindsey.
Walking over to the refrigerator in one corner of her office she pulled out a glass and added a few lumps of ice. Then she extracted the bottle of Smirnoff Vodka that she only ever brought out when she was feeling like celebrating and splashed a certain amount into the glass. Returning to her desk she stared out of the window at the darkening sky. Progress was nice.
The phone rang and she picked up the receiver.
"Lilah," purred the voice at the other end before she'd even been able to say a word. It was Holland. How had he known that she was there? "Working late I see. Very commendable. I understand that you were able to sign your guests from last month up for a little freelance work for us."
Lilah thought furiously. Aha. "The Sankregs," she said, "Yes, I put the San Francisco assignment to them. They agree to get the book from the witches there."
"Interesting choice of personnel," said Holland.
No it wasn't, though Lilah, it took me ages to get that blood out of my shirt and when that large one wrenched their own brother's charred head off his corpse and started sniffing it I almost hurled. I hope that all get what they deserve while my real thief gets the job done right. "I thought it appropriate."
"Well, we'll see. By the way, I heard from a contact of mine this afternoon. He saw your... associates leaving town."
From the way he said that last part she could tell that he was emphasising something, but she couldn't tell what. In the end she simply said: "Okay."
"The thing is, Lilah, they were heading southeast, and according to any atlas San Francisco is northwest of here. I wonder if they're being very subtle or if, well, you failed to emphasise the urgency of the matter." He drew the word 'urgency' out ever so slightly, something which other people would have underlined in metaphorical red ink, along with much screaming.
Her mind raced and she bit back several choice words. Oh that did it. No more red skinned cretins. Endangered species? She'd finish the job that the Crusaders started.
"I made it very clear," she said. Time to come clean. "And to make sure I initiated a back-up plan to acquire the book." She spoke for several minutes, outlining the great coup that she'd been hoping to unveil with a flourish.
When she finished speaking there was a brief silence on the other end of the phone. A drop of sweat oozed down her face. Then Holland broke the silence. "Very commendable," he purred. "Good to have a back-up plan. Not the most reliable of demons, but adequate. By the way, report to my office tomorrow morning."
Her heart raced. The negotiations for the Arrangement with Wilkins? Then he said: "The Arnold account seems to have come unravelled again. I'd like you on the case. See you at 9am sharp."
She heard the dial tone over a heart that seemed to have stopped dead, turned to lead and then dived somewhere south of her knees. The Arnold account. The longest-running piece of litigation that Wolfram & Hart had on its books. So complicated that legend had it that you needed a miner's helmet and a pickaxe to find the bottom of the file. Legend also had it that the filing system was now so complex that an intern sent to pick up some case notes from the depository had never made it out alive. Old Tom Murray had had to be sedated after a week of working on it. He'd walked into a meeting stark naked, sat on his chair and answered every question with an 'ook' noise, while putting a banana in his coffee and sketching out an incredibly efficient new filing system for the firm's library. He was now the librarian, even though he now slept in a basket in his office and occasionally forgot his clothes.
Draining the vodka down to the last drop she slumped in her chair and glared out of the window. It was all so unfair! Damn it!
The car weaved to a halt and then stood there. It was not in good shape. At some point it had been driven either at or through a hedge and there were twigs and leaves scuffed into the bumper. The driver didn't get out straight away - he seemed to be having some trouble with the door handle. Finally he succeeded in the basic act of turning and pulling at the same time and leant against the door, which flew open and deposited him on the ground, where he lay giggling softly. Pulling himself upright he finally stood up and looked down at the lights of the town beneath the bluff where the car was parked.
There was another moment of brief confusion about if he should smoke the bottle of whiskey or drink the cigarette before he returned his gaze to the lights. Somewhere down there was the key he needed to getting Dru back. Somewhere living in those somewhat blurry lights. He shook his head and stared. For a moment there seemed to be rather too many lights. Then he grinned viciously. "I'm home," said Spike. "Home, home of the Slayer... and witch girl, and weirdness and stuffy Brits and ponces with hair gel."
Taking another swig of whiskey he scratched his chest thoughtfully. He was hungry. Time for a bite to eat.
Okay, this is odd," quipped Xander as he locked the book vault and then sat down with his legs crossed. "But then this is Sunnydale and we passed odd years ago and went straight on to insane. You okay with this?"
Sitting on the other side of the wire mesh Oz nodded. "I know what you mean. I'm almost cool with it now though."
"Almost?"
"Give me time. How do we do this then?"
Xander took a deep breath before looking at Oz. Fortunately the werewolf had some experience of meditation. This, however, was something else. Although he was confident that he could handle the wolf version of Oz, the werewolf had insisted on being locked up during any training over the full moon period. Although he hadn't used the force since the previous month when he had shocked Xander so much, the Jedi Knight had focused in on the werewolf's aura. The force was there alright; the more he looked the more he could see it. The question was, could Oz?
"Close your eyes and focus on meditation," he said softly. "Just drift. When your mind is still, go deep. Put everything to one side."
"Are you going to tell me to stretch out with my feelings?" asked Oz, a faint smile on his face.
"That too," he replied.
They sat there for ten minutes as Oz slipped into a meditative state, listening to Xander's voice as he spoke in a low monotone. Then the Jedi slowly pulled a penny out of his pocket. It was just wide enough to pass through the metal mesh of the cage easily. Balancing it on the tip of his thumb he used the force to propel it through the door, aiming it to pass over Oz's head. It never made it. With lightning speed the werewolf reached up and snatched it out of the air with his eyes closed.
Oz blinked at the penny in disbelief. "How..." he started and then stopped before trying again. "What... happened there? It was like I could feel it – almost see it, just for a second. He looked up at Xander, who was grinning. "That was the force?"
Nodding, the Jedi leant back on his haunches. "Yes it was. A small glimpse. You've got it, Oz, you really have."
The werewolf looked confused and pleased at the same time. "Is this the point where you tell me that I've my first step in a larger universe."
Xander groaned. "Will you stop quoting 'A New Hope' at me? Well, actually yes you have. We need to see how far it'll go. And Oz?"
"Yeah?"
"Look up at the window."
The werewolf did so. To his shock he could see the full moon hanging in the night sky. He looked away hurriedly but he could feel the wolf starting to stir in him. "Damn, I hate this," he muttered.
"Oz, it rose ten minutes ago. I think you can hold it back with the force."
Sweat was running down the werewolf's face now as the change took hold. "Try again tomorrwow nighttt?"
Xander stared at the face of his friend as it finished changing and then started snarling. "Tomorrow night, Padawan. A short step, but a step all the same." He looked up at the door seconds before Willow walked in. "Cool. Willow can I have a word before I join the Slayage Sisters? I think Wolf Boy here shows promise."
The Host staggered back through the door and slammed it. Pausing for a moment to gather his strength he weaved his way over to his desk and sat down very heavily. Opening the drawer to one side he picked out a bottle and squinted muzzily at it. Something yellow. Okay, fair enough. He pulled out a shot glass, poured a measure out with a shaking hand and sank it with one gulp.
"Holy Hanna," he muttered. "The first time was bad enough, but you'd think I'd be ready for the second." He glared at the bottle. It didn't seem to be having much of an effect, so he gulped down a second shot, telling it mentally to go and find the first one, give it a good talking to and then get to work.
After a while his gaze drifted back to the drawer and he pulled out another bottle, which he inspected from a distance of two inches. Something blue. Oh, what the hell. He poured out a measure from it and sent it down his throat with orders to find the first two, blend into a more harmonious green colour that hopefully colour-coordinated with his skin and restore some equilibrium to his frazzled nerves.
There was a quiet knock on the door and Vern the barman poked his head around the door, opening his mouth to say something. The Host sat bolt upright, groaned, almost knocked over the pair of bottles with one expansive gesture and then finally said: "I just want to know one thing – gone or not gone?"
"Gone," said a bemused Vern. "And Frankie Four-Fingers is asking for credit again."
The Host shuddered violently again. The only future he could see ahead for the normally New-York based mobster was a quick death in London at the hands of some mad, almost indestructible, Russian called Boris. Something about a huge diamond and a boxing match. "Tell him only if his 'Uncle' stumps up the cash."
Dismissing Vern he subsided back into his chair and firmly capped the bottles on his desk. Right. Back to work. He sat there for a moment longer. Perhaps a quick nap first.
Fighting vampires could be very therapeutic, thought Buffy. After a day at school being sniped at by Snyder, followed by pesky homework and then a trip to see how Angel was doing as he attempted to rebuild himself following his hell-dimension existence, and she had a great deal of frustration to work out.
She frowned slightly as she ducked under a wildly flailing fist and then kicked with some precision. The vampire, who relied on blunt strength and had just no idea of fighting style at all, screamed loudly and fell over, clutching his shattered kneecap, making him far too easy to stake. Sensing a movement behind her she wheeled and dodged the oncoming vampire, catching him a glancing blow that sent him into the trunk of a tree.
"Xander, are you going to help at all? And why is it I never see you in the same place as Snyder? How do you avoid the man with no good side?"
Perched on a branch above her, the Jedi shrugged. "Come on Buffy, it's not like you need help with this lot. Where'd they come from, Incompetents Anonymous? Besides, you look like you need to blow off some steam." He grinned. "As for Snyder I can tell where that little weasel is with the force. Makes it easy to avoid him, unless I'm trapped in class that is. He puts out a nasty signal in the force."
Off to one side there was a sighing scream and Faith walked out from behind a tomb, dusting herself down with the hand that wasn't clutching Aquila. Looking up she smiled at the sight of the now terminally enraged vampire picking himself off the ground by the tree and rubbing at the cut over his forehead. "Nice balance on this thing. Here ya go, B" she called and tossed the sword over.
The vampire skidded to a halt as he saw Buffy wield the sword in what she knew looked like a highly professional manner, with the fangfaces rage giving way to an understandable desire not to get dusted.
"Are you all finished playing?" she asked in a bright voice. "Because if you are, then can we finish this so I can go home? My Mom makes me nachos after a big evening with the Slayage."
The vampire swiveled his eyes from side to side, taking in the approaching Faith while uneasily catching sight of Xander, who was now standing on the branch and displaying a great deal of balance control.
"Maybe another time, Slayer," he said with a weak display of menace and then turned and ran for it. Unfortunately he didn't get very far. Buffy reached into her jacket to extract Mr Pointy, which thudded into the fleeing vampire's chest with an impressive accuracy. "Wow," she said, impressed despite herself. Then: "Xander, did you help with that?"
"Nope, that was all Slayer," replied Xander and then leapt off the branch, tucked into a roll and landed next to her. "The vamps seem to be a little lacklustre tonight," he added in a musing voice.
"Yeah, well," drawled Faith with a lazy smile, "With us on the case, who can blame 'em, right B?"
She smiled at the brunette Slayer. She liked Faith, although Xander seemed to be a bit worried about the way that she Slayed. It was good Slaying, no question about that, with much gusto thrown in, if gusto was the word she wanted, but she had to admit that sometimes Xander had a point – Faith enjoyed it a little too much. Not that that was a bad thing, but you had to be efficient sometimes, especially when you were facing large numbers of the undead.
She opened her mouth to ask if anyone wanted to come back to her place and have some nachos, when she suddenly realised that there was a Xander-shaped hole by her side. Turning, the two Slayers looked back. The Jedi was standing in the middle of the road, absolutely still, his gaze off to one side. He looked very serious.
She was about to ask him what was wrong when he raised one hand and gestured for them to get away. "Buffy, Faith, get out of here. We have company."
Her hackles rising slightly she frowned. "What's out there? Come on Xander, we can handle anything!"
"Not this," he replied, unclipping his lightsabre and holding in his right hand. "These things are too nasty."
Something was emerging from the pooled shadows at one end of the road. Several things. More than several, there were six of them. Whatever they were, they were tall, massively built and red, with spiny bone protrusions here and there. As one of them passed a mailbox it sent it flying across the road with one casual swipe of a clawed hand. She exchanged glances with Faith. These things definitely looked nasty.
"Buffy," repeated Xander, "Faith, get out of here. I've fought one of these things before. They are incredibly tough. Go!"
"No way, Xan-Man," said Faith, with grim cheerfulness. "You stand, we stand. Might be nice to know why though."
The leading skanky red demon thing must have been listening to them, because it stopped in front of them and pointed a spiky thing at Xander.
"He kill brother," it rumbled in a deep voice. "Kill Karvor in desert. No respect to body. No respect to clan. We find, we kill. For honour."
Emitting what sounded like a sigh of resignation Xander shook his head wearily before looking up at the thing. "Your brother was trying to kill me and he also had a hostage. He was looking for a holy book. I was there, we battled, he lost. I am sorry for your brother, but he left me no choice."
"We have no choice now," came the reply. "Vengeance is all."
"Vengeance is all," chorused the others as started to spread out and around the trio, flexing muscles and making unpleasant cracking noises as they clenched their fists.
"Xander, did you kill the big red thing's brother?" asked Buffy as she pulled Aquila out.
"Yes, and please for the love of God run, you two. Their skin is like some kind of armour, my sword just bounced off it in the desert."
"Then how'dya kill him?"
"Went for the eyes with a chain, he flinched back, I got him in the eye with the sword."
"Nice, said Faith and then pulled out her stake. "You'll do," she said to the nearest Sankreg demon and then threw it with amazing speed. The stake disappeared under the craggy demon's forehead into the brain. There was a shocked pause and then the demon slumped onto its back, extremely dead.
"That was nice too," said Xander, assuming the second advanced defensive posture, "But Faith?"
"Yeah, Xan-Man?"
"You just disarmed yourself."
She paused and then looked up at the nearest demon. "Ah nuts. What the hell."
Things got complicated then. The demons turned their gaze from their fallen comrade to the three humans and sent up a howl that made the hairs on the back of Xander's neck stand on end before attacking. Xander ducked under one spine-tipped fist and shouted: "Watch out, those spines and damn sharp," before igniting his lightsabre and spinning on the spot to face Karvor's brother.
"Silly light stick not hurt me," rumbled the demon with contempt. "Me old, me hard to kill."
"You know what?" he replied. "Karvor said the same thing. Right before he died. Back off, you'll die otherwise."
The demon snorted again and lunged. Sighing, Xander dodged the blow and pulled the lightsabre up and around. There was a blink of noise from the demon and then he fell apart into two equal halves. "I warned you," he said to the corpse and then looked around. Buffy was facing two Sankregs, Faith another while the last one was staring in disbelief at the neatly bisected body.
"I'm a Jedi," he said to it and the demon looked up and stared at him. Then it bellowed something unintelligible at him and charged towards him, flailing with those sharp tipped fists. He dodged them and snuck a glance back at the others. Buffy had somehow managed to take out one of her opponents, but in the process she'd lost Aquila, which seemed to be wedged in the skull of her fallen foe. She was also bleeding from a cut above the eye and her jacket looked like it had been attacked by a knife-wielding moth. She ducked under one fist, rolled away to the corpse, reached out and Aquila came free with a truly horrible wrenching sound. In his humble opinion she'd win this one.
Faith so far seemed to be dodging and diving a lot while looking very frustrated. This was bad. Then it happened: she lost her temper. "Stand still you bastard!" she screamed and took the fight to the demon. Her first kick didn't even stagger the Sankreg, neither did her second. Then she reached out and punched it full in the face.
Xander flinched at the sound of the bones in her hand breaking; it was a sickening crunch of a noise that was all the louder for echoing off the massive skull. Faith looked down at the odd angles that her fingers were sticking at and had just opened her mouth to scream in pain when the Sankreg hit her with the back of its hand and sent her flying through the air to land in a bush.
The Jedi Knight swore under his breath and turned back to his opponent, whose attacks he had dodged easily. Okay, time to end this fast. The demon's fist came down again for another blow and suddenly wasn't there any more; neither was his entire arm. The demon stared at the cauterised wound from the lightsabre and then suddenly his headless body was collapsing.
Xander span, hurtled over the bodies and cut the legs out from under Buffy's opponent, causing him to fall to the ground. "Hey," said the Slayer, finishing off the demon with crunching stab to the head, "I had everything under control there!" Then she looked around. "Faith!"
The last Sankreg stepped up to the brunette Slayer as she lay on the ground clutching in agony at her shattered hand. "I eat your flesh," it gloated and raised a massive fist.
"Take a number, lover boy," she ground out through clenched teeth, her good hand flailing at the bush for a branch to use a weapon. The red fist came up... and then stopped. Faith stared up at the blue beam that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the demon's forehead. Then it vanished and the Sankreg fell to the ground with a thump that shook the earth, revealing Xander. The Jedi Knight deactivated his lightsabre with a sigh and stepped over the body. "You alright?"
"Yeah, well, my hand could use some looking at," she replied. Then she stopped and looked at him. "Thanks, Xander. I owe you one."
He grinned and looked down at her hand.
"Nasty," said Buffy as she came up quickly, wincing at the sight.
"You're a sight yourself, B," said Faith with a smile. "Hey, Mr Jedi, can you, you know, use the force on this?"
Xander winced as he looked at it. Bones should definitely not look like that. "Uh, Faith, if I start to heal that before the bones are properly aligned again, nothing's going to work properly. You need to get to a hospital right now to get your hand set. Then I start to heal it."
"Oh," she said. She glanced at her attacker and for a moment a look of fear and anger swept over her features. "Makes sense, I guess. Buffy, I think I'm gonna need nachos after this."
"Mom will be proud of the noble cause that her nachos have died for," Buffy said as she helped her friend up. "Come on, let's get you fixed up."
Something else flashed over Faith's face as the two led her away. It was a complicated expression that combined gratitude, sadness, pain, fulfillment and longing.
Standing in the shadows to one side Spike swallowed almost nervously as he watched the trio walk off. Then he took a long swallow of vodka. Okay. This was bloody terrible. One Slayer was bad enough, two was a disaster. And Harris... how the hell had he rediscovered his Jedi skills? And a lightsabre? How the bloody hell had he managed to build one? He'd killed four Sankregs. Five if you included the brother that one of them had been twittering on about. Spike had met a few Sankreg demons in his time. Bad-tempered, almost indestructible buggers.
Okay, he thought, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Plan A is buggered – kidnapping either the witch or the Watcher was a fast way to certain death. Plan B had promise. He'd find Dru, torture her mercilessly and hope that she forgave him. Turning he staggered slightly and then frowned. Where had he parked the car again?
It was a nice day. The sun was shining, his Padawan was progressing and Snyder was on the other side of the building. Life was good, thought Xander as he walked around the corner of the school and looked at the main entrance.
Jedi's didn't go for rumours, but Willow had been quite the little gossip monkey earlier on. Apparently Tom McAndrews, the captain of the football team, the current love of Cordelia Chase's life, had made the biggest blunder on the face of the planet. During a tender moment the previous night he had blurted out the wrong name at the wrong time. Hurricane Cordelia was now busy laying waste to the vicinity. The name? Buffy. Oh crap.
Xander shook his head ruefully as he caught sight of The Queen of Mean up ahead with her acolytes. From their posture she was still laying waste to the general area.
Then he frowned. Something was off with one of them. One of them... just did not feel right. Not evil, that sense was easy to sense in the force, but... hard. Tarnished at the same time. Cloudy, as if something was being concealed.
Looking to one side he saw Buffy approach. "Hey, Buff. Don't go near Cordy today, the bitch level coming off her will kill small birds and mammals in the area." He scratched the back of his head. It felt as if a small thunderstorm was brewing over Cordy's head. Something felt off.
"Xander, do you have an odd feeling today? You're looking all scratchy," said the Slayer.
"Yeah," he said absently, "Something feels..." Then it hit him like a landslide, as if a veil had been jerked to one side. Something was wrong, more than wrong, very, very badly wrong.
"Damn," he said, spinning and lunging up the stairs.
"Xander?" came a baffled wail from Buffy behind him, "What's wrong?"
He didn't reply, he just ran up the stairs, using the force to swerve through the crowd, up to Cordelia. As he drew level he heard her say: "I wish that Buffy Summers had never come to Sunnydale!"
And a voice that sounded too deep and dark, attached to a face that was not human, replied: "Done!"
The world went dark.
