Lineage

Dawn whirled around; nothing but empty space and twinkling stars surrounded her. Was she dead? She knew there wasn't air in space for her to breathe but she was inhaling and exhaling without any problem. She rubbed her arms vigorously against the shivering. A side effect of the seizures. Where was she?

"Welcome home." A warm voice surprised her and she jumped, turning to see an older woman standing behind her and a silver haired man sitting off to the side. There wasn't a chair or piece of furniture beneath him. Just nothing.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?"

"From the void," the woman answered cryptically. "You have been brought here for protection. Your mortal body is not strong enough to survive the breakdown."

"Is the world going to end?" Dawn didn't even know where the world was but it seemed like a good, mature question to be asking.

"All worlds do," the man answered with a casual shrug.

"What about my sister?" Not so mature but definitely more important.

"Her fate is written." Her smile was kind. "I will return. My sisters desire to greet you." She disappeared into a soft glow that appeared to be just past a moon.

"Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning," Dawn mumbled as she looked around, still unnerved by the view beneath her feet. She wasn't even standing on anything. Just standing. Nothing down there but more stars and emptiness. She wondered if she could simply sit down without falling into the inky black beneath her.

"Why don't you try it?" the man asked congenially, waving to a spot at his side.

Dawn sat down slowly, half expecting to fall. Relieved when she met resistance, she positioned herself on the invisible seat and glanced around nervously. "Where am I?"

"Beyond your reality. I am Chronos."

The name sounded familiar, pricking at a memory somewhere in her mind. A class maybe. She noticed that he was watching her intently. Come on, Dawn. Think. Ask smart questions. Get some answers. "So, I'm guessing you're pretty powerful. To do the whole space-time hopping. Fred says it takes a lot of energy just to make a little hole."

"Different rules apply to mortals."

"You're not human then."

"I have assumed human form because you are most comfortable with it. I have no true form."

"Way with the cryptic." She tried to smile politely at the thing with the human face. "But most of you big guns are. You're not evil though? Right? Cause you saved me, I think, and it would really suck if you were evil."

"I am not evil." Chronos returned her smile. "I simply am. As you are. Older than man, older than demons."

"As I am? I'm only nineteen. Or five. Depends on how you count."

"I refer to the Key."

"About that." Dawn took a deep breath. "I don't suppose you have any answers? The how, what, why type of answers."

"Perhaps. Why don't you try asking?"

"All right. Here goes nothing." This was her big chance to get the truth. "What is the Key? Other than a living energy matrix in the form of green glowy ball, cause I've heard that one a million times and it still doesn't make sense."

"Are you familiar with incarnations? The personification of abstract ideas and concepts?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Would you believe me if I told you that these personifications, these incarnations, are real?"

"Like God? And the Devil?"

"Not quite." Chronos shifted, gazing off into the nothing pensively. "In popular belief, those are actual beings whose sole purpose is to influence or effect mankind. They are human in nature. Incarnations are not. They exist in every dimension regardless of species or moral beliefs. There is Good, there is Evil. There is Death."

"The guy with the big curvy ax?"

"A scythe. To cleave the soul from the body."

"That's real too?"

Chronos chuckled. "It's amazing how much truth humans have without actually having any at all."

"What does this have to do with the Key?"

"There are the Greater Incarnations. Good, Evil, Life, Death, War, Fate, Time." He stroked his beard slowly, turning up the tip at the bottom until it curled. "But there are others. Considered to be Lesser Incarnations. Embodiments of more particular aspects of reality. The hunt between predator and prey, the lunar cycle, the tides. The ocean herself has an Incarnation. One of the least known represents the flow of energy that maintains the barriers between worlds. The Key. In a way, you are that energy. It created you, maintains you. As the walls have begun to crumble, you have felt the effects because they are part of you. You are connected."

"I've been hearing voices. Stuff I don't understand."

"Outside your mortal body, you are not bound by linear time. What you hear are echoes of the past and of the future."

"Am I human? Even a little?" she asked quietly.

"You are more than human, my dear," he told her comfortingly. "You have a human body but you are not of the world. It's quite complex, actually. The Key itself has only minimal awareness and a very basic personality. Within you, it has the opportunity for fully fledged emotional development. "

"Do I have a soul?"

"What is a soul?" he countered. "A moral compass? A conscience? A level of intelligence?"

"Do I have a soul?" she demanded forcefully.

"A human soul? No." He watched her silently for a moment. "You have human consciousness, human thoughts, human emotions. Human understanding of the world around you and the moral fabric in which you reside. But not a soul like those you love." He reached out to touch her hand gently. "You soul is bound to the energy that weaves through reality and forms the basis for all dimensions. The universe is your soul."

"I feel normal." Dawn gave him a half-hearted laugh. "Just a normal California girl going to college. I don't feel all universe-y."

"The Key is a passive incarnation. Unlike War or Death."

"You're Time." She blinked as she finally remembered the name. Mythology 1200. "Chronos. You're Time."

His eyes sparkled like the stars around them. "Very good."

"And the woman who was here before?"

"Lachies. Her sisters are Clotho and Atropis."

"The three Fates." Dawn shook her head with an amused grin. "Professor Adams would totally flip if I told him about this. I mean totally. He was all preachy about how man always makes up these figures to represent things we don't understand. Like he would know." She rolled her eyes and swung her legs into the nothing at her feet. "So you can't stop what's happening then? Can you?"

"We can affect your world quite strongly. You have seen your own influence, the damage and the power." He reached out to brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "But we are forbidden to interfere. It would damage the very foundation of reality. We are meant only to watch and maintain."

"Sounds boring."

"Eternally so."

"What's going to happen then? To Buffy and the world."

"That is yet to be decided. There are still paths to be chosen, all leading to different places." Chronos gazed off into the void.

"And Spike?"

"Yes. Spike. A great deal rests on his shoulders. The fate of worlds. And there is much to be done before the ascension."

Dawn felt her heart skip a beat. She knew that word. She hated that word. It meant big demon snakes and blowing up the high school. People died at ascensions. She opened her mouth to ask and decided not to. She didn't want to know.

They crawled up and out of crevices the Earth herself had long forgotten. Out of the depths, out from the heat and fire of the spinning core deep within her. Black eyes glittering like a sea of hungry diamonds; cold, inhuman hearts full of violence and rage. Long arms, sinewy and leather tough from digging through basalt and granite. Slithering, twisting, abandoned by time and progress, the creatures broke through the surface and pulled themselves into the world that had forgotten. From the depths of the ocean, they rose from icy darkness to turn toward land. Hundreds of millennia had passed, leaving them restless and starved for carnage. Volcanoes opened their fiery jaws, mountains split gaping maws, spewing shadow hands, feet, talons. Boundaries were falling, balance was breaking.

A siren's song came from the west, enticing, dangling the carrot of evil and bloodshed before souls as black as the void of space. Whispering of death, destruction, and hell. The Hellmouth called out to kindred spirits with the charismatic touch of a southern preacher kissing babies and robbing nest eggs. Its voice resonated through the night, searching for its spawn.

Storm laden clouds crashed together, pounding thunder, raining lightning down on the desolate areas of the Earth. The wind whipped and whirled around a little girl in a green dress as she watched the most ancient of evil begin the contamination and the ultimate destruction of the earth beneath her feet. She could feel the invasion as the thin barriers between dimensions began to shimmer, fade, and crumble. Soon there would only be one world. One planet covered with death and destruction.

She was Life. Regardless of shape, color, species. She was Life. Demon, human, creatures without name. Good or Evil didn't matter to her. It was all just Life and she was bound to uphold and protect all living creatures. Within reason. Death was a necessary part of the cycle of Life and she understood His vital role in all dealings. Frowning, she listened to the impatient cry of the wind, a chorus of banshees heralding the end. The humans would struggle and cling to the Earth with the unbending tenacity that mankind was capable of. Her beautiful Earth would be left a toxic wasteland of nuclear fallout and eternal winter. Already, she could feel the death around her. Human death. Left vulnerable by the destruction of the Slayer lineage. An entire world brought down by one vampire.

"Go ahead." A strong voice broke through her thoughts and Gaia turned to see Alatheia plucking the petals off of a daisy. "Do it, do nothing, do it, do nothing. What will be done?"

"They will cover my soil with blood."

"And mankind has drenched your oceans with oil and sewage." Truth shrugged. "That's life. Fertile earth is the universal ashtray. You give and give and what do they do? Put in high rises, concrete jungles, and a parking lot. Not exactly a worthwhile species."

"Is any species worthwhile?"

"Not especially. They all have their drawbacks. Vampires? They've got that appetite for destruction. Always trying to obliterate the world." She paused for a beat. "That says something about their incompetence right there. Thousands of years and they still haven't managed? In fact, one of them succeeded this time only because he wasn't trying. How's that for irony?"

"What do you want?"

"Swung by to say hello. Could you drop the schoolgirl look? Creeps me out."

Gaia sighed. Limbs lengthened and long hair curled tightly into braids bound in a circlet around her head, green fabric changed to a bright swirl of crimson and gold. The mature eyes of a fully-grown woman gazed out over the landscape. "Better?"

"Much. That pesky desire to play hopscotch is completely gone."

"Now what do you want?"

"To chat. What's wrong with a little bonding between fellow Incarnations? A little song, a little dance. Or skip the dancing. And the singing, actually."

"You're awfully cheerful. Why?"

"Because I'm going to tell you to do what you want most to do."

Gaia hesitated visibly. "It is forbidden."

"A lot of things are forbidden. There are rules, there are laws. Blah blah blah."

"How? The end of this Age is yet far away."

"There's always a loophole."

Gaia smiled as understanding dawned. She turned back to the melee with a laugh, raising her voice in a cry that echoed the screeching of the wind. Earth began to shake and quiver, oceans roared and wind drove its claws into the world. The invaders shuddered, pausing their advance on the planet's inhabitants in their confusion. It was supposed to be easy. The Earth wasn't supposed to fight back.

The screen door shut with a bang and Jane Liddle scowled down at her tabby companion. "There's nothing out there. I've opened the door a hundred times and you just sit there. Do you want to go out or not?"

"Meow."

"I should have named you Rum Tum Tugger." Scooping up the feline, she buried her nose in his soft fur and breathed in the comforting scent of cat. "What am I going to do with you, Bugs?"

"Meow."

"Yeah. Me too." She kissed him with a loud smack before releasing him, watching him scamper back to the door and take up his post. Guard kitty of the backyard and protector from the things that went bump in the night. When he sat like that, tail curled around his front paws, she realized just how small and fragile he was. Tiny paws, delicate bones. A delicate life that depended on her. Luminous green eyes studied her and she could hope that she saw fondness and even a little bit of understanding in them.

"Wish I knew what was wrong with you, little guy." She finished cleaning up the small kitchen of her apartment. Tucking her straight, slippery hair behind her ears even though it was a losing battle and would be in her face a few seconds later, she sat down on the linoleum next to her cat and stared out into the night. "There's got to be something out there."

The wind had picked up and radio news reported heavy storms heading their way. It would be a pleasant change from the sunny and warm of California's typical fare. Variety was the spice of life. Bugsy's ears swiveled forward as he caught an interesting sound. Pushing out of his crouch, he bumped his nose against the screen and sniffed the air.

"Fine. But you'd better go out this time. And I'm coming with you." Jane grabbed a rain jacket out of the closet and pulled her PowerPuff Girls umbrella out from behind the door just in case the storm decided to get a head start. "Let's go."

She was buffeted by the wind as soon as she left the apartment, locking the door conscientiously behind her. Bugsy waited at her feet, eyes watching the shadows. With a quick reminder to be patient, count ten, and that there was more than one way to skin a cat, she reached down to take hold of him. He darted out of her grasp and across the lawn.

"Bugsy! Come back here!" Hurrying after him, she ducked her head against the gale and pulled the jacket tighter around her body. Damn cat. What was he thinking? She caught sight of him at the corner. He waited until she was almost there before dashing across the street and down another sidewalk, aAs though he was leading her somewhere. She frowned and brushed the thought away. He was just a cat. A normal, four paws with claws bundle of purrs and silky fur, cat. Aside from the weird behavior of late, there was no reason to think he was doing anything but being difficult. Except that he was sitting calmly at the end of the street waiting for her.

"Bad kitty." She scowled worriedly at him. "There can't possibly be a mouse worth all this." Howling wind whipped her hair across her face and she gave up trying to keep it away. Stomping after the dancing feline paws wasn't helping because the sounds of her footsteps were snatched away, depriving her of the satisfaction of hearing her boots clomping down the sidewalk. No use being mad if there was no one to appreciate it. Convinced that her cat had taken a trip down the rabbit hole and had too many drinks with the Hatter, she followed him into one of Sunnydale's many cemeteries.

Freaky town. That's why she'd come here, wasn't it? She'd heard there was never a dull moment in SunnyD. Shivering against the wind, she caught sight of Bugsy as he loped across the lawn, zigzagging between the headstones. Long trip for a mouse and what was wrong with the expensive cat food she bought him? The hair on the back of her neck was beginning to crawl and she really didn't want to be in one of Sunnydale's fine cemeteries, alone, at night. Should've let him go out by himself. He was a grown kitty, perfectly capable of handling himself; much faster and more agile than his human. Frowning, she glanced around for the familiar ball of fur and saw nothing but grass and stone. Damn that cat.

"Bugs?" Her voice came out less steady than she intended. "Bugs? Where are you?" Straining her ears in the rushing wind around her, she tried to pick out any sound that could be him. A meow, anything. Only the leaves rattling in the trees answered her. And a growl. Had someone let their dog out? Spinning around, she searched the shadows for the animal. Nothing.

Something brushed against her leg and she jumped, heart pounding in terror as she looked down to see Bugsy staring innocently up at her. "You are in so much trouble, buster. Worlds of hurt." She was cut off by another growl. Bugsy glanced to the side and hissed, flattening his ears back and arching his back.

"Look out!" The warning shout sliced through the wind and she jerked back as a body tumbled past her. Two men hit the ground with a thud, struggling against each other as they ricocheted between the headstones.

"Xander?" Jane blinked as she recognized one of the men. He was on the ground, a wooden stick in one hand. The man fighting him was trying to get the piece of wood away with one hand and choking him with the other. Pushing away the shock, she gripped the handle of her umbrella firmly and attacked the man on top, beating the back of his head as hard as she could. "Let him go!"

"Jane," Xander coughed, fighting against the grip on his neck. "Get...out...here."

"Hey! I'm trying to help you." Jane felt her breath catch in her throat as the attacker turned his face toward her. Feral golden eyes stared out of a strange, inhuman mask with bumps over his forehead and nose. Sharp fangs slipped past his lips as he snarled at her.

"I'll eat you next, little girl," the creature growled.

Incensed, Jane swung the umbrella down onto his head with a crack, knocking him to the side and off of Xander. "I'll show you little!" He put up both of his hands to protect his face. "You're just a bully!" Two more strikes with the umbrella kept him from getting back up. "And you should be talking? Have you seen your face lately?" She gave him a couple more blows with her umbrella before pausing. "And you know what? I bet you're not even human. So this won't actually kill you. But it'll hurt!" With a grunt, she drove the pointed tip of her umbrella into his stomach, watching as he doubled over in surprise.

"Just a thought." A woman's voice startled her as she backed away, still eying the creature hatefully. "Don't call her little."

Xander rubbed his throat as he got to his feet. "Do you want to finish him off, Cordy?"

"Nah. Go ahead."

He smiled hesitantly at Jane as he approached the dazed creature, driving the stake into its chest and brushing off the resulting dust. "So. Out for a walk?"

Jane glanced between him and the woman. "Chasing my cat." A small meow at her feet reminded her of how she had gotten there in the first place and she quickly picked the errant feline up, hugging him against her protectively. "He...he wanted to go for a walk. In a cemetery. At night. And that guy wasn't human, right? I mean, the dust, the stake. The fangs?"

"Oh."

"I'm Cordelia." The woman smiled with a cheerfullness that seemed out of place in the creepy cemetery.

"Hi. I'm Jane." She took a seat on the stone next to Xander. "So the crime fighting night life?"

"More of an undead fighting night life."

"Oh." Jane looked down at her feet, noticing the grass stains on the toes of her sneakers.

"Everyone okay?" Another man hurried toward them, glancing nervously at her before moving to Cordelia's side. "Someone you know?"

"This is Jane. We've...I've...sort of." Xander shook his head sadly.

"They've been dating," Cordelia offered. "She's feisty, just your type Xander. This is Angel."

"Angel?" Jane raised one eyebrow as he stepped forward to shake her hand.

"It's a family name."

"Oh." Jane nodded, wondering if she was actually at home, in bed. Asleep. Maybe this was all a dream. Claws dug into her arm and she looked down at unblinking green eyes. Not a dream then.

"Why don't you walk her home Xander? We'll finish patrol." The man called Angel suggested. Who names their kid Angel?

"Thanks." There was a hint of sarcasm in Xander's voice. "Better take advantage of my chivalry while you still can. I'll be too stiff in the morning."

Stroking Bugsy's ears, she nodded goodbye to Angel and Cordelia and followed Xander through the cemetery. He was fidgeting with his stake and glancing around nervously. Jane was still trying to reorganize her world. Vampires, demons. Those weren't too bad. She'd grown up with a head full of fantasy worlds: monsters, superheroes. Most of her childhood had been spent searching for the unicorns and fairies she knew had to be out there somewhere. But Xander? Where did he fit into all of this? How did he know about demons? And why had he been in a cemetery chasing vampires? Patrolling? It explained the weirdness that was Sunnydale. The way people didn't go out at night unless they were with friends. The high mortality rate, the fact that the high school had been destroyed twice in the last ten years.

"So." Xander tucked the stake into his jacket.

"So." Jane dropped Bugsy when he started to squirm, watching as the cat darted down the sidewalk to her front door. "How long have you known?"

"High school. Sophomore year."

"How?"

"One of my friends. Buffy. She's the Slayer."

"Slayer?"

"Vampire Slayer. One girl in every generation, chosen to fight demons and vampires." He scuffed the soles of his shoes on the front step as they arrived at her apartment. "Except there's actually three now. Long story."

"Oh. Loophole?"

"CPR."

"Cool." She inspected her umbrella, grimacing at the drying blood on the end. "Stake through the heart, huh? Everything else true?"

"Crosses, holy water, garlic, the invitation thing. Yeah. And Dracula's real too."

"Really?"

"The whole smoke and turning into a bat, all true. And the weird mojo with the eyes."

"Look into my eyes," Jane intoned with a heavy Transylvanian accent. "Like that?"

"Yeah. I hear there were even beautiful women in the dungeon. Giles found them. Some guys have all the luck. I got stuck with the bug eating detail."

"Giles?"

"Buffy's Watcher. He trained her, reads a lot of books, and has the cleanest glasses in the Americas. He's British but we've managed to knock some of the stuffiness out of him. There's hope."

"Wow." Jane brushed her hair out of her face. "Why do I get the feeling you could tell me stories for years?"

"You have no idea."

"Again with the wow because this is...this is just crazy."

Xander stared down at his feet, shuffling nervously. "And this is the part where we do the nice to know you routine and go our merry ways. It's cool. I mean, if you want to go back to not knowing. Not that you can actually not know but you can pretend to not know and people here are really good at that. If they ever make denial an Olympic event, Sunnydale residents have the gold in the bag." He stopped to breathe and gave her a timid smile. "I guess I'm trying to say that I'll understand if you don't want to see me again. It's a lot to take in and not a lot of people can handle it."

"And miss out on all those stories?" Jane smiled when he looked up at her in surprise. "I'm not saying I'm not freaked. I'll go in and lock all the doors and crawl under the covers with Bugsy and be terrified. But hey. That's life. If we spend it all pretending there isn't anything scary or wrong out there, we're not living."

"What if I told you the world was going to end?" He was still watching her with a look of pure amazement.

"Then I'd say...come on in and we can hide under the covers together. Without Bugsy. He sheds."

"Really?"

"So the world's going to end. We live with that over our heads every day." She dug through her pockets for her keys. "Army brat, remember? My dad was convinced that everything was going to go up in one giant mushroom cloud. Nuke the planet. World War Three. The world is always going to be ending. It's what you do before the end that counts." The door swung open and she stepped inside, waiting for him to follow her.

He stepped across the threshold nervously. "Good attitude."

"Xander."

"Yeah?"

"Anything else you haven't told me?"

"I helped saved the world a couple of times."

"Really?"

"One time, there was this Hell God..."

"Roberts! Roberts!" Iverson pushed away from his computer in triumph, brandishing his notepad and pen like trophies. Three days. He had spent three exhausting, caffeine laden days searching for the answer he knew lay hidden within the Council's records. The truth about the past. About William the Bloody.

"Sir?" Roberts looked just as haggard. The world was falling apart and the nations of the Earth had finally heard their wake up call. There wasn't a member of the Council who wasn't scrambling to answer questions and meet diplomats.

"It was so obvious. Right under our noses the whole time and we never saw it. Call a meeting. The others have to know about this."

"Sir?"

"I know they're busy. It'll take five minutes." Iverson waved him away and poured himself another cup of coffee. After the meeting he'd head home for shower and some sleep. Grabbing his phone, he managed to dial the numbers without spilling the coffee or dropping his pen. A feat, considering how little sleep he'd gotten over the past three days.

"Storage? This is Iverson." He fumbled for the right piece of paper. "I need something brought up. Lot number 4-2-7. Yes. Immediately. Take it to the library. Thank you." The receiver clattered back into place and after awkwardly grabbing several folders off of his desk, he headed for the library. It wasn't the most pressing issue on the table and Weatherby was bound to grouse about being pulled away from the ambassador of what-have-you. But he was the Head Watcher and it was his prerogative to call meetings whenever he bloody well felt like it. At least there was one piece of news that they would consider meeting worthy.

He waited impatiently, going over some of the memos and letters he had ignored in his search for Spike's past. Nowhere in the Watcher's diaries or any other record had he found undeniable references to sexual or romantic relationships between Slayers and vampires. It was all fight, die, another gets called or fight, dust, move on. Although it was possible that past Watchers hadn't mentioned it or hadn't known, it didn't detract from Iverson's budding theories. In fact, it might even warrant further research into past Slayers. He knew he was right. He had to be.

"Sir?"

"Yes. Bring it over here." Waving the young men into the room, he watched as they set the thin crate against the wall and unlatched the fastenings. Wrapped inside was a medium sized oil painting the Council had obtained in an estate sale decades earlier when they still had complete records of all of the Slayer lines. He smiled at the painting and motioned for them to place it on the table. The resemblance was uncanny. Too much so to be pure coincidence.

"This had better be good, Iverson." Weatherby demanded as he breezed into the room. "I have Ambassador Zabuti in my office."

"It won't take all day." Iverson smiled as he searched through his folder. Where was that picture? Ah. There it was. He looked back and forth between the photo and the painting. Amazing. The very last place anyone would have looked. Finishing off his coffee, he grimaced at the taste and sat down. The other members of the Council hurried in, anxious to get back to what they had been doing before Roberts interrupted them. Once all the seats were filled and his loyal assistant had taken his place, Iverson stood up to get their attention.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice. I have some interesting news."

"Please tell us the team has found Spike."

"Our team has narrowed his location down to a few city blocks and they expect to have confirmation by the end of the week. I believe that we will have him by Sunday at the latest. I suggest you all pray the world can hold on that long."

"Finally. Good news."

"I also have a report from Mr. Wyndam-Pryce that Cara is in Los Angeles and under his watch."

"Have you lost your mind?" The expected outrage from Weatherby was amusing.

"Did I forget to tell you that I had reinstated him as a Watcher? With all the chaos around here...must have slipped my mind." Iverson bit back his laughter as the other man began to turn red. "But that's not why you're here. I wanted to share a discovery with you." He held up the painting so that the entire table could see it.

"This was done by a Dr. Alvin Seymour Gull. He practiced medicine from the mid 1860s through the turn of the century. Good man. You might recognize the name. Lawrence Gull was the Head Watcher for many of those same years. Brothers." Iverson handed the painting to Roberts and flipped through several pages of his notes. "Lawrence was able to convince Dr. Gull to take on a patient, keep watch over her and her family. She was the only daughter in one of the Slayer lines that had been dwindling. Accidents, disease, the usual. Two of her brothers were lost at sea at a young age. Since she was never called, she had ample time to bear and raise a child. A son named William. This is a portrait of the woman and her son. Quite lovely, isn't it?"

"Where is this going, Iverson?"

"You'll see." He pulled the glossy eight by ten out of the folder and passed it to the right. "Hand that around. This picture was taken almost a year ago by one of the teams sent to capture Spike. Early in the spring of 1880, Dr. Gull reported that his charge and her son had disappeared. The house was left untouched. The cook arrived in the morning and found it deserted."

Caldwell stared at the picture in his hand. "It can't be."

"It can. 1880 is one of the possible dates for the siring of one William the Bloody." He turned to the painting. "Take off the glasses and bleach the hair. It's him. It has to be."

"Even if it is true." Weatherby frowned, swiveling his head back and forth between the photo and the painting. "Why is it important?"

"What if...just what if...it's the reason Spike sought out Slayers. Managed to kill two of them and then proceeded to form relationships with two more. What if it's not a coincidence? What if, at some basic molecular level, what Buffy and Faith have been attracted to are the Slayer genes in Spike."

"But the body is dead."

"The genetic material is still intact until he is dust. Frozen in time as it were." Iverson rubbed his eyes. "Like calling out to like. It might not be important at all. It might just be interesting. We know so little about how the Slayers were made, how they're called. Which chromosomes are Slayer genes and which aren't."

"No. I understand what you're saying." Caldwell finally dragged his eyes away from the painting. "It means that Slayers could be more vulnerable to vampires from Slayer lines. Something physical that they have no control over."

"It's possible."

"If they had known five years ago." Weatherby drummed his fingers thoughtfully. "We could have prevented all of this."

"Is there anyone left?"

"Our records are by no means complete but I don't believe there is anyone remaining other than the three active Slayers." Iverson took a deep breath. "The Hendersons were found last night. They were the last family we knew of."

"What this means," Caldwell leaned forward. "Is that if the world doesn't come crashing down around our heads and we somehow manage to restore the Slayer lines, they must be carefully guarded. Protected. Controlled."

"A rather large if, considering the current state of decline." Weatherby scowled.

"Optimism, my friend. Optimism."

The self-proclaimed vampire Master of New Orleans gave evil a bad name. He strutted and preened, a peacock lording over a rag tag gang of undead imbeciles. More concerned with luxury and petty human manipulations. Caine sighed and poured himself a drink. Why couldn't Spike have chosen a city with a decently ruthless vampire Master? Boston perhaps. Or Chicago. Anywhere but New Orleans. The demon community here was more interested in getting thoroughly sloshed and picking out drunken festival goers. No pride in their work, no thrill in the hunt and no interest in a good slaughter. Even the humans living there slid decidedly toward sex, drugs, and rock and roll on the vice scale. There wasn't nearly enough hate or violence in the city.

"My men have reported seeing the Slayer near the warehouse." Cable shifted nervously in his chair.

"Good. She'll find him soon enough."

"With all due respect, sir." The word sir came out a little sour. "If she kills him, won't this end before the walls have come down completely?"

"That is correct."

"Shouldn't we stop her then?"

"You needn't worry about her." Caine smiled, wishing he could open the blinds. That, of course, would incinerate the vampires in the room and as much as he wanted to see that happen, he needed them for just a bit longer. "She won't kill him."

"How can you be sure?"

"I know human nature. Regardless, there are already plenty of new demons in this world. It will take years to fight them all. Even if it ends now, there will still be a great deal of destruction to enjoy. It's a win-win situation."

"And the vampire? What happens to Spike?"

"He dies." Caine chuckled and raised his glass. "That's the beauty of this whole plan."

"But if he dies, it ends. How is that any different than the Slayer killing him?"

"There's a world of difference." They had such little minds. Incapable of truly comprehending the brilliance of his plan. "The balance was tipped because his demon fought for a soul. Chose not to kill, to go against its nature. To be good. Restoring the balance was to be accomplished by eliminating the Slayers. Which you have so kindly helped me achieve. There are only the three active Slayers left on this planet."

"I understand that part," Cable said a little impatiently.

"If Spike is killed by someone, say, a Slayer. Then balance is restored, walls come back up, resonance ceases. If, perchance, all three Slayers were killed, we would obtain the same result. On the other hand, if it's suicide...the tables turn." The idiot still didn't understand. Caine shook his head sadly, why couldn't Spike have gone to Boston?

It was infinitely more complex than killing a vampire or destroying a world. Spike was just a tool. Endless futures were in flux. Everything this world could have and should have been centuries from now. The final evolution of the Slayer lineage. All of this nipped in the bud and a good bout of carnage to sweeten the deal, with the death of one vampire. It wasn't about here and now. It was about the chain of events that would have been set in place had the vampire survived, had the Slayers been allowed to continue their development. Events triggering undesirable consequences like ripples in a pond, stretching out into eternity. This was just the beginning.

"What happens if he kills himself?"

"His soul has been taken away. He is just a demon. And if that demon sacrifices itself for the world?" Caine couldn't keep from smiling. "There is no price high enough to restore the balance if that happens. No more waiting. The walls will shatter in an instant and this world will be plunged straight into hell. Forever."

"So the world is saved if someone else kills him but it's destroyed if he kills himself?"

"Exactly. Of course, he doesn't know that." Caine laughed as he settled into a chair to wait.