DISCLAIMER: Some of you might have recognized a line from the Serenity trailer in my last chapter. Yep, that was a Firefly reference. I'm a little late coming to the Browncoat party, but thanks to Netflix, I've been able to catch up on the one show in the Whedonverse that somehow passed me by. And I'm very much looking forward to the Serenity film in September. But for now I will rule over this chapter and I shall call it…this chapter.

The door burst open and several zombies stumbled backward, moaning angrily. Dozens more shuffled across the grassy field, the moonlight casting long shadows. Shaun and Sara shared a glance before emerging from the shed.

"Hey, deadhead," Shaun said, holding his cricket bat aloft and approaching the nearest zombie. "Take a bite of peach." He reared back and twirled the bat like Uma and her Hattori Hanzo sword; the zombie's head cracked with a sickening noise and separated, the body crumpling to the ground.

"I cannot believe you just said that," Sara remarked.

Shaun rolled his eyes and slammed the bat down hard into another zombie's skull. "Try your own catchphrase," he suggested. "It'll make you feel better."

"Hi-keeba," Sara squeaked, trying to follow his example. She tightened her grip on the croquet mallet as the nearest zombie approached, what was left of its jaw frozen in a hideous snarl. Connecting with its cranium, she closed her eyes and looked away from the sight of the now-exposed brain tissue. The zombie staggered to the side, and she readied a blow for the next one on her left.

Shaun walloped another zombie and glanced over to Sara. She was being too hesitant, too timid. He knew the killer instinct was…um, instinctual to her. It was just a matter of pushing the right buttons; he needed to get her to feel something other than abject terror if they were going to survive. "Oy, Cross!" he cried.

"Yeah?"

"I bet I can take out more of these things than you," he boasted, following through on an uppercut.

"What?"

"I know you're a slayer and all" – smash! – "...but you have to admit…" – squelch! – "I have had more training in this particular realm."

Sara stifled a retch as she took down another zombie. "Look, I know what you're trying to do, Shaun. Don't think I don't appreciate it."

"I'm not trying to do anything," he insisted, his adorable but smug face spattered with blood. "Just stating a fact. I've taken out…four, five of these things." Hopping to one side, he jabbed one particularly tall zombie in the gut and when it doubled over, he pounded an uppercut with the bat under its chin. The head flew off and a young zombie behind it picked it up and began munching, then threw it aside with a grunt of distaste. "Whereas you've only got two…"

Sara paused as one incapacitated zombie fell backward on top of another. "And a half," she corrected.

"So? What are you waiting for? If these things were vamps, you'd have this field covered in dust by now."

"Yeah, well, there's no messy clean-up with vamps." She kicked away a zombie that had snuck up from behind. It stumbled backward into the grass, and she delivered a final blow to its head, closing her lips tightly and recoiling from the spray of blood. "And you are paying my dry cleaning bill after this!"

"Only if you have a higher casualty count than me."

"Fine – fine, you're on!"

And slowly, but surely, Sara hit her stride; with every next swing of the mallet, the ease of taking them out overtook her fear. That and the desire to get the bloodstains out of her favorite jeans and leather coat at no expense. Fine, and the satisfaction of proving to Shaun that she had the edge to doing this.

But when it was all said and done, and there were only a few more zombies left on their path to freedom…the strongest feeling she had was admiration. Watching Shaun go medieval on these creatures was something to behold; she had no doubt in her mind that he didn't enjoy it quite so much that he wouldn't rather be having a cold one in the bar or curled up in her hotel bed upstairs, watching X-Files re-runs…but he was good. Damn good. And she beamed with pride.

"Almost tied me," Shaun announced, closing in on the door and pulling her with him. "Nice try, babe. I win."

"Yeah, well, there's a first time for everything," she sighed, attempting to wipe some blood splatter off her cheek. "So what happens since I lost, what's my punishment?

"Believe me, I'll think of something…"

"Think quickly, then. We've got a second wave incoming," she informed him, as shambling shadows began to approach from around the side of the house.

Shaun determinedly approached the door but found it locked. "Oh, fuck!" he cried, futilely wrestling with the knob. "Open the door!" he shouted, pounding on the heavy wood.

"There's no one inside, Shaun, no one living. And if we break a window, they'll follow us," Sara conjectured. "They're getting closer…"

Shaun turned and leaned resignedly against the door. "I didn't think it would end like this."

"Yes, being torn apart by zombies certainly isn't my preferred method of death," she remarked. "Besides, I already died once this year; I don't want to be redundant." She looked at Shaun and managed a weak smile as the shambling, moaning undead drew nearer.

He took her hand and held it tightly. "I'm glad you came back."

"Me, too."

"Whatever happens, we go down fighting."

"Absolutely."

"Then we'll leave it to fate."

"Let's just hope fate is in a good mood." She brought his hand up to her lips, made sure it wasn't covered in zombie blood and kissed it, as he firmly gripped the cricket bat in his other hand.

"You ready?"

"Ready."

Shaun inhaled deeply and then fell backward as the door suddenly opened. Still holding his hand, Sara found herself jerked inside and tumbled on top of him. The door was slammed on the approaching zombies, and when Shaun and Sara looked up, they couldn't believe their eyes.

"Welcome to the party, you two," Will greeted, looking chuffed and extending a hand.

Sara allowed the apparition to help her to her feet. "What are you doing here?"

"I took your advice and brought some friends." He led them into the main foyer, leaned against the door and pointed toward a sight that made Sara and Shaun gasp. A lobby full of ghosts…young ghosts, old ghosts. Ghosts with smiles, ghosts with frowns. All of them in various stages of decay like Will, their outfits from different time periods but all sharing the same ethereal glow.

"Um, are they…dead like you?" Shaun began.

"Yes, they're ghosts and yes, they're friendly." Will turned to his former protégé. "Really, Sara, your boyfriend's grasp of the obvious continues to astonish me."

She swiftly smacked his arm. "Hey, show some respect! He just saved me from a horde of ravenous zombies."

"Alright, alright. We'll do our best to keep the zombies on the outside."

"How?"

"Simple binding spell, Sara. Keeps certain people in and certain people out. If you'd paid more attention in lecture, you could have done the same thing."

"Whatever. How are the living guests?"

"Most of them were escorted outside by the local PD, and we managed to corral the rest of them into the wine cellar. I'm afraid a few of the staffers got bitten, so we've placed them in the kitchen freezer and locked it."

"Have you seen Pru?"

"Super powerful Wicca, about yea-high, dresses like a Van Gogh painting?"

"That'd be the one."

"Haven't seen her lately but I'm sure she's in the building. She's the one who made the zombies go homicidal, according to Abigail."

"And who's Abigail, when she's at home?" Shaun asked.

"Her." Will pointed behind Shaun at the very small ghost of a little girl who looked up at him with one big, green eye and smiled.

"Hello," she said, cheerful as…well, as a child.

"Riiiiiight." Shaun pushed his creeped-out vibes to the back of his head long enough to lean down and pat the little apparition on the head. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," she replied sweetly.

"How long do we have, Will?" Sara asked.

"A little, I think. Some of the other spirits have gathered in the drawing room to channel their energies and stall any undesirable manifestations. Won't last forever, but it should buy us some time to figure out a game plan and stay under the radar."

"Wouldn't want to lose the element of surprise." Shaun stared longingly toward the hotel bar, which still maintained a warm and friendly glow despite the surrounding chaos. "And I could do with a pint," he sighed.

"So could I," Sara agreed.

"I'm pretty sure the bar's still serving," Will observed. He issued orders for the ghosts to cover the doors and windows, then followed Sara and Shaun to the bar. As they passed through the doorway, unseen hands ambushed them from both sides.

"Die, you undead bastards!" cried a black trenchcoat-clad man with a wild tangle of black hair as he held a jagged broken wine bottle against Shaun's throat. Out of instinct, Sara raised her mallet in defense, but the woman to her right caught it and tossed Sara against the wall, holding an iron fire poker to her throat.

"I think there's been a mistake," Shaun struggled to say.

The woman regarded Sara intensely for a second and then dropped the poker to her side. "False alarm, Bernard!" the woman scolded, pushing the other man's arm away from Shaun. "They're not zombies."

Bernard insistently pointed at the decaying form of Will. "He looks fairly undead to me."

"No, no, no," Sara said quickly, moving between Will and the bottle-brandishing Bernard. "Well, yes, he is, but he's my friend."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Seems to be the trend around here," Shaun remarked.

The woman looked at the three of them apologetically. "Sorry about that, Bernard's been a little on edge." She sighed and smoothed out her auburn hair, reminding Sara vaguely of Rene Russo in The Thomas Crown Affair.

"Who are you?" Sara asked.

"Marian Matecheck. Er, no, Marian Moran." She tilted her head at her husband. "Sorry, dear, still getting used to that."

"Quite all right. I forget my own last name from time to time…well, often," he muttered in a thick Irish brogue.

"This is my husband, Bernard," Marian continued. "We were in the bar, enjoying the last few hours of our honeymoon, then things suddenly got a bit weird."

"Yeah, we know," Shaun groaned.

"So who are you people?" Marian inquired.

"Uh, Metropolitan Police," Sara stammered.

"You don't look much like police."

"Special Branch. It's all very hush-hush."

"Would you mind telling us what's happening here?"

"Well, we're not quite sure," Shaun began. "All we know is the reanimates have reverted to their old bloodthirsty ways so we're going to need to secure the building. Have you seen anyone else around?"

"No one but us and the undead," Marian explained.

"Maybe you two should join the others and hold up in the wine cellar. Do you know where that is?"

Bernard and Marian stared at them. "Of course," they replied in unison.

"Right, dumb question. Anyway, get yourselves down there, block the door, and wait for help to arrive."

The Morans started to scurry off to the cellar, but Sara stopped them with a stern look, holding out her hand. "I'll take those, if you don't mind." They reluctantly surrendered their weapons and continued on to the cellar.

Shaun threw her a look. "What'd you do that for?"

"I wanted an upgrade," she said, tossing aside the mallet and getting a firm grip on the fire poker. She stood in front of the pub fireplace, desperate to stop the shivering. Shaun grabbed a couple of towels from behind the bar and handed one to her.

"So let's get this straight," Shaun began, "we now have ghosts fighting zombies, with a very cranky witch somewhere on the premises."

"That about sums it up. Weird enough for you?"

"No, I'm just waiting for a werewolf to join the fray."

"Let's not tempt fate, shall we?" she advised, drying her hair with the towel.

"I take it Pru put up a fight," Will asked Sara, observing her many bandages and bruises.

"A bit of one, yeah."

"Why didn't you have the golden boy here do a protection spell?"

"Well, that was the plan, but things didn't quite work out," Sara shrugged, with a sideways glance at Shaun.

"I still have the book," Shaun said, fumbling for his back pocket.

"Too late, Shaun, I doubt it'd be strong enough to contain both Pru and Maggie. Anyway, Mags is still pissed off about her untimely death and looking to get the payback. With interest. So Pru found a way to bring her great, great auntie Margaret Winfield back into this world."

"How does she plan to do that?"

"Scales from the Velkor demon. With them, she can turn anyone into a spiritual conduit."

"And that anyone is probably Evelyn Fairfax," Shaun elaborated.

"If Pru already has Evelyn, where would she take her?" Will wondered aloud.

"What about the chapel?" Shaun offered.

"No," Sara countered. "As far as we know, she's still in the building, and there must be a reason she revived the reanimates in order to keep us away from the hotel."

"What about Room 34, Mad Maggie's room? Isn't that where people usually see her ghost?"

"Riley, you're a genius," she smiled. "Remind me to kiss you."

"If we don't die."

"Oh, have a little faith. How much time do you think we have, Will?"

"If Pru's administered these Velkor scales to Evelyn, she could then either kill her or render her unconscious, making her susceptible to possession by Maggie. It would only be a matter of opening a portal and summoning Maggie's spirit."

"Considering Pru's power, she could do that at any time," Sara commented.

The lights flickered and a low rumbling started. The bottles and glasses behind the bar slowly shook off their shelves and shattered on the floor.

"Like right about now?" Will conjectured.

"What's going on?" Shaun shouted.

"She's opening a portal. We need to hurry!"

Sara and Shaun made a run for the staircase but skidded to a halt in the bar's doorway as the jukebox in the bar sparked to life, playing Queen's "Somebody To Love."

"Oh arse… not Queen," Shaun moaned.

"What's wrong with Queen?"

"Bad memories," he replied dismissively. "Let's go!"