Summary: Certain books have found their way to Sunnydale, pre-Buffy.

Disclaimer: I dun' own nuttin'!

Feedback, it makes me write faster. (You know you want to do the feedback thing.)

Pre-Fic Comments:

Thanks for all the comments you guys make -- I can do no plot without them. (I'm no good at planning ahead, I just get these way neato ideas that don't fit in very well.)

Thank God my school never had a Talent Show.

* * *

The Master looked at Billy. "So, your Lasombra is coming now?"

Billy nodded.

"Where is he?," the Master asked. "I'm quite anxious to meet him."

The demonic follower pointed at the shadow cast by the stone cross in the cave. A figure rose from the two dimensional plane, gaining depth as well as height and width. He was dressed in jeans, a black jacket, and a white tee shirt.

"I'm Lasombra," the man said. "And I'm presuming you are the Master?"

"Indeed," Old Wrinkle Face said. "Welcome to my parlour."

"Said the spider to the fly," Lasombra finished the quote.

"You'd better not interfere with my plans, boy," the Master said.

Lasombra's eyes narrowed. "You'd better not get in my way."

Billy nervously raised his hand. "Uh, Boss?"

The two vampires' heads shot around to look at the underling.

"Should I tell him about those wolves?"

Billy was starting to sweat.

Lasombra smiled. "Absolutely. Remind me, however, to tell you about a delightful little thing called 'OpSec' when we get back."

"Werewolves?," the Master said. "Pathetic creatures."

"Wrong type," Billy said. "These are the Garou that we're talking about. They can control their change, they're hideously strong, and they have a massive hate-on for us vampires."

A balding vampire in an embroidered waistcoat with little goldrimmed glasses moved forwards a step. "Are you referring to the, uh, Whitewolf breed of werewolves created during Twelveheart's Final Rite?"

Billy nodded nervously.

Lasombra saw the Master's eyes narrow. He took the opportunity to ask something that had been digging at him for quite awhile.

"Why did you get Darla to organise that Rite?," Lasombra asked. "Were you hoping for a massive influx of footsoldiers?"

"I told her no such thing!," the Master snarled. "That bint organised all that by herself!"

With the passion he put into his statement, he might have even been telling the truth.

"Now," the Master said. "You will swear loyalty to me, or you will not leave this cavern un-alive."

Lasombra smirked. "You really should do your homework, you know."

* * *

"Come now, Assam. Take a seat."

"Thanks, Zhim. Well, I've got good news and bad news with regards to that so called law firm you wanted me to scout out."

"Oh?"

"They've got extradimensional ties."

"You're joking."

"No. You'd be getting in over your head if you tried anything with them."

"It's just as well I asked you to check them out for me. Terry will pay you for your services."

"I see you've expanded."

"Oh, yes. I... bought... one of the swankier restaurants here in LA, and I've got the local street gangs by the balls, so to speak."

"This should be good."

"Quite. Their manly leaders aren't manly unless I deem it so. If their manly leaders try to run, or plot against me, then they aren't manly any more."

The normally reserved Assamite vampire laughed out loud at this.

* * *

The old man looked at the vampire across the table from him with venom in his glare. He still believed in no God, but now he believed in at least one Devil.

"You're going to fry in Hell," Thomas Angelo spat.

"Please," Smith smiled. "Between you and Vercetti, we've got this town sewn up."

"I don't like working under other people," Angelo admitted.

"At least you can still walk under the sun," Smith observed. He dug a fingernail into his arm, blood flowing down from his wrist, painting his fingers.

And the old Mafia don drank.

While he hated working under others, he didn't mind that as much as dying of old age.

* * *

Xander sat in the folding chair, head on arms laid flat on the chair in front of him. Him, Buffy and Jesse were in the school hall, trying to dream up an act for the School Talent Show.

"I know!," he said. "We'll summon something, and Buffy can fight it!"

The Slayer shuddered. "I don't think so."

"I can play the piano," Jesse offered.

"Badly," Xander dryly added.

"Hey!"

"Truth hurts, man."

"Well, what if we do an /illusion/ of something for Buffy to fight?," Jesse offered. "I /really/ don't want to sing in front of everyone.

"Everyone doesn't want you to sing either, Jesse," Buffy said. "What? I heard you 'serenading' Harmony."

Willow wandered over to the three, Chalithra behind her.

"Why didn't Snyder try and kick you out?," Willow asked the Drow girl.

"New," Chalithra explained. "He still doesn't recognise all the students, and didn't want to embarass himself."

"Heeeey," Xander yelled. "Welcome to the jungle!"

"Hi, guys!," Willow said back. "This is Chalithra, and she's originally from San Francisco, but doesn't feel like going back at the moment, which is okay, since I've always wanted to travel across America, too, and--"

"Okay, Will," Xander interrupted. "We've come up with a plan for the talentless show."

"What's the what?," Willow asked.

"They do their Penn and Teller act and make an illusion of a demon and I fight it," Buffy said.

"Cool," Willow said. "The best I could do is get embarassed and run away mid-skit."

A scream cut through all the rehearsing in the hall, echoing from the changing rooms behind the stage. All five youths' heads turned immediately.

"Bet you a dollar it isn't a spider," Jesse said.

"No bet," Chalithra said. "Bet you a dollar it isn't a vampire attack."

"You're on!"

* * *

Post-Fic Comments:

I tried to address a few more plot points... my brain has run out of ideas for the time being.