Part 3

She was in her fourth cemetery of the evening, and man, it was a slow night for Sunnydale's undead. Almost three in the morning, and not a vamp in sight since eleven. Buffy found herself disappointed, and then scolded herself. This is the kind of thing Dracula had been talking about – the darkness within that made her kindred with the darkest of the dark. All summer long, she had been patrolling extra-hard, even when there was no immediate threat. Dracula had called it hunting, and he had been right. The darkness was coming to the surface more and more, so much so that she'd been going out looking for it.

But her new training schedule with her old Watcher was supposed to change all of that. More precision, more strength, more focus. Less darkness. Peaceful when the unholy forces are quiet, call to duty when they boil up. Such was the life of a Slayer, or at least that's the way it should be.

"You look disappointed," a voice said, from behind her. "Not enough nasties out for you tonight?"

Buffy stopped in her tracks. It was that voice, the one from her dream. She had known there was something strange about it... but really it wasn't the voice that was strange, it was simply that that the girl had an accent. She seemed to be Irish, and her words lilted off her tongue in a beautiful, almost curvy, way. Briefly, Buffy chuckled to herself for being all mystified by an accent, and made a mental note to mention it to Giles when next she saw him.

She also made a note to examine later how in the hell this woman could know what she was thinking. She was getting pretty sick of the mind-reading crap, as a matter of fact. Was the girl a mind-reading demon? Was it gypsy magick like Dracula's? Wiccan telepathy, like what Willow was working on?

"You've heard my voice before have you?" the girl asked, reading Buffy's stiff body language. "Perhaps on the beach, in a place where light meets dark?"

Buffy turned to face her. It was she, indeed. Strawberry blonde hair playing in the moonlight, a lovely red mouth turned up in a knowing smile. But she got the distinct feeling that she was not face-to-face with a spirit guide. Buffy sensed danger, and her hand instinctively went to her back to find the stake stuffed in the waistband of her jeans, even though she was pretty sure that this girl wasn't a vampire. How could she be?

"You know, I've really had enough of you mind-ready-types traipsing around inside my head. I don't want to have to steel myself against another brain-control thingy, so if you're not looking for a smackdown, I'd suggest you be on your way."

"Is that what your Watcher told you, love?" the girl asked her, tauntingly, with mock concern. "When you told him about your prophetic dream in which I played the role of prophet, did he tell you that I was a mind-reader and that you'd have to steel yourself against me?"

Buffy was taken aback. After a pause, she asked, "Who are you?"

The girl smiled. "They call me Ogha Dunver," she said simply. No follow-up, no bravado, not even a menacing crossing-of-the-arms-across-the-chest. Just a quick introduction.

Again, Buffy was taken aback. Again, she paused. Finally, she said, "And I'm supposed to know you... why?"

"I'd have thought you would," Ogha replied, stepping forward casually. "I'd have thought I'd be quite well-known in the circles in which you travel."

Ah-ha. Here was the bravado.

Buffy smirked. "Well, I've never heard of you, so I guess I won't have to worry about getting all sentimental when I kill you."

Unperturbed, Ogha continued to taunt, and began to walk in a circle around Buffy. She came to a stop, face to face with the Slayer. "You see," Ogha said, as her human visage melted into a vampire's demon face, "I'm no ordinary vampire."

"Wow," Buffy sniffed, having seen the vampire's true face, and having regained her old sarcastic composure. "With the crazy vibes you were giving off, I could have sworn that you were something much worse, like a Lamudsruelf demon or a Erialeduab troll (they can both walk around in a human guise), but it turns out you're just another lame-ass bloodsucker claming to be no ordinary vampire." Buffy chuckled. "And here I thought the night had finally gotten interesting."

Ogha smiled sweetly. "Try to convince yourself all you like, love, but it doesn't explain why I'm in your dreams, or for that matter why I know about them."

Buffy couldn't argue with this.

"And it also doesn't explain why I can do this."

Ogha threw a single undercut straight at Buffy's chin, and it sent the Slayer flying through the air, landing her atop a mausoleum in a different plot of the cemetery. Buffy wasn't hurt badly, but she was stunned.

She had seen the face. She had seen the woman's face disappear and replace itself with a vampire's, so she could rule out any other demon species. But vampires, save for a few, couldn't even ring Buffy's bell these days, let alone punch her across a cemetery. Maybe this one lame-ass vamp wasn't such a lame-ass after all.

Buffy slid down the side of the mausoleum, landing on her feet, only to find Ogha waiting for her, exposing her fangs in that same weird smirk she had been giving Buffy ever since the dream the night before.

She was not going to make the same mistake twice. This bitch was dangerous, and Buffy was going to dust her.

A punch from the Slayer, a right hook across the jaw.

No reaction from Ogha, only a snarl.

Another punch from the Slayer, this time harder, across the same spot on the vampire's jaw.

A normal vampire, or even Spike, would have been knocked off its feet by a blow that hard, a human would have sustained brain damage. Ogha turned her head to cushion the blow, and Buffy heard her exhale harshly as though she'd felt some pain, but still no notable reaction.

The third punch was met with the palm of Ogha's hand. She had caught Buffy's fist in mid-trajectory, something only a handful of beings in existence could ever have done. A battle of sheer strength ensued between the two, Buffy pushing forward with her fist, Ogha pushing back with her palm. They stared each other in the eyes and gritted their teeth, each unwavering for a time. Buffy noticed that while the vampire pupils shone in their usual glowy yellow, the human irises around them were a brilliant green.

Ultimately, Ogha was able to best the Slayer, pushing her backward, sending Buffy toppling to the ground.

"What was the word you used? Lame-ass?" Ogha asked, her Irish brogue more completely apparent than ever. "'Cause I'm not exactly from around here, and I'm dying to know what it means."

Buffy didn't answer. She just stared in shock, which then became a tight-jawed resolve. Her newfangled Slayer training had taught her that fear was okay, a natural reaction to unnatural, unfamiliar phenomena, and this situation was plenty unfamiliar. But still she was not comfortable showing it. It was against her nature. She stood up, sticking her chin in the air defiantly.

"You're a strong one," Ogha said to her. "You're the pluckiest Slayer I've ever known, and believe you me love, that's sayin' something."

"I'm so pleased that you're happy with my performance," Buffy said, unwavering.

Ogha chuckled with an arrogant little sniff. "But we both know that in the end, I'll win. Look at you, you can barely stand, and I have not even flexed a muscle."

"So now you've resorted to gloating?"

Ogha Dunver moved very close to Buffy, so that if she'd had breath, the Slayer would have been able to feel it. Her vampire face gave way to her benign-looking human mask. Barely above a whisper, she declared, "You and I, Slayer, we are kindred, and there is going to be one hell of a fight. We shall wreak havoc. My army shall rise, all the daughters will come together and the world shall tremble."