Chapter Two - The Blood-Splattered Angel

Five months earlier, Detective Paul Stein's squad car had pulled to a stop outside 1630 Revello Drive. He'd climbed the porch steps, walked in through the door, and immediately seen red, that being the predominant color.

The crime scene photographer glanced over at him. "lt's a massacre," he said, his camera continuing to capture the scene, filled with the crimson that crime scenes there usually lacked, the majority of Sunnydale's murders being surprisingly bloodless. "Must be the work of maniacs... Though not many victims."

"Give me a figure."

"All this blood, but just two dead. Sisters. Just the one witness, a Mr. Xander Harris, but as you'll see," the photographer turned his lens towards the young man, focusing on the haunted look in his eyes, and the rest of his face which was blank, "he's not saying anything. Weird, huh?"

Stein walked over to Xander, sitting in the shadows, and pulled out a wallet. "You call us," he said, digging out a card, "when you're ready to..." Stein's words caught in his throat, as Xander looked up at him and Stein saw the extent of what had been done. "When you're ready," he said, amending his words, trying to hide his shock, as his mind struggled to comprehend what he'd just seen.

"Look at her," the photographer said, his camera focussing on the corpse before him, the blood around her spread by her once-flailing arms.

"She's a little blood-splattered angel," Stein said, looking at her distorted limbs. "Wings all broken."

"Her name's Buffy Summers."

"I know," Stein said. "It's not the first time we've met. Last time would have been this time last year, over at the junkyard."

"Didn't realise you knew her," said the photographer. "I'm sorry."

"No need to be. She was dead then, too."

Later, in that same week of her most recent death, Buffy Anne Summers had been resting in peace, lying in her coffin, as one of her killers had entered the graveyard for the second time that day, determined to finish the job properly.

Beneath her tricorn, Wendy Darling's long brown hair blew in the breeze, momentarily concealing her eyepatch. The only sound she could hear over that breeze, apart from the perfect tempo of her crocodile boots hitting the ground, was a whistling tune that filled the air, repeating and repeating.

"Why did I get Willow to bring you back?" she asked the source of both the noise and the breeze, a small winged figure that insisted on circling her head, making her feel dizzy. "Should have followed Dorothy's example and brought back dear Nana."

"But you knows you loves my fairy dust. Makes you fly, it does."

She swiped at the naked flying figure with her hook, but the fairy just dodged and the whistling noise got louder, so Wendy turned her attention back to her mission.

That was when she heard Willow's voice in her head, "Are you there yet?"

"I'm standing over her grave right now," she said both aloud and in her head.

"Sorry, but there's been a change in plan, no graveyard encounter just yet," Willow said. "You can come home for now."

"What?!"

"I owe her that. She needs to know what it's like, all that power, unable to resist."

"Let another vampire live? My Watcher, Captain James, would never have approved."

"Surely you, of all people, can turn a blind eye. Besides you live in my world now, and you wouldn't want to make me unhappy, would you, my darling Wendy?"

"I guess not," Wendy said, glad that Willow could only hear her words and not see her expression.

"Do you really have to guess?"

"No, I don't really have to guess."

"I know. Come on home, Darling."

"Right away," said Wendy, a scowl on her face.

"I love you very much," said Willow.

"I love you too," Wendy felt she had to answer, with some embarrassment, as her fairy companion made a sticking-her-finger-down-her-throat gesture.

"Byes," said Willow, on her way out from Wendy's mind.

"Thought that was funny, didn't you?" Wendy said to her smiling fairy companion. Then she turned her attention to the grave, shaking her hook at it. "Later," she said, then stormed off away from it, past two young men bickering in the darkness.

Andrew and Jonathan emerged, having stealthily avoided the whistling pirate lady. As soon as she was a safe distance away, they started arguing among themselves.

"We should have carried on to Mexico," said Andrew.

"So you keep saying," replied Jonathan. "I realise you have a bad feeling about this, but we won't be able to outrun Willow. Buffy is our last hope." His face fell as he realised that Andrew would now no doubt reply with 'There is another one', and quite frankly, after days of being on the run with Andrew, he couldn't take any more Star Wars-isms, but then Andrew surprised him.

"Sure we're just The Duo now, but do we have to be so dynamic?" Jonathan had just started to smile, when Andrew continued, "Just wait and see, Grand Moff Rosenburg is going to Darth Maul us and make us Qui-goners. Trust me, Sith happens."

"Not if we can get Buffy to kill her first," Jonathan argued.

"But Willow's already killed Buffy."

"Yes, but she'd have killed her magically, so there's our loophole."

"Maybe I could summon a demon," Andrew said, going off on a tangent. "And there are those weapons of Warren's back in the van. Maybe we stand a chance."

"Why don't I try summoning Buffy first," said Jonathan. "Trust me. I'll finally get to use this broken Urn of Osiris I picked up on eBay."

And so the magic ritual began.

Down beneath the Earth, Buffy's eyes opened after days of being closed and it was if she was opening them for the first time. So, this was what being a vampire felt like. Groovy. None of that goody-goody soul stuff holding her back from her true potential. She felt ever so thirsty, but not for water. She could go on a feeding spree with Spike. Or with Angel, once she'd sex-sucked the soul out of him. Maybe with both together - a carnage à trois. She could be the Biggest Bad, the Ultimate Slayer. She also wanted to kill people with dentures just because she was curious to see how that fang thing would work.

She started to dig her way up, her hands pulling her through the earth. Her broken limbs made it harder than the last time, but she bore it no mind, for above her lay Sunnydale, where she could track down her friends and acquaintances and so many other forms of blood receptacles. Despite the earth in her mouth, she licked her lips and smiled.

"Look!" Andrew said, as the hand came thrusting out of Buffy's grave. "It's working."

Jonathan nodded, though he had his mouth full, choking on a snake.

Another hand thrust out and then Buffy was pulling herself up out of the ground, her arms and legs broken at odd angles. A fanged smile filled her face. It was time for her first sacrifice, and fate had sent along two virgins.

Her legs weren't working, but she could bring them down to her level. Her least-broken arm grabbed hold of the wriggling snake, and yanked it hard, pulling it out of Jonathan's mouth and sending him sprawling to the ground. She then swung it at Andrew, knocking him over, and then, since he was the nearest of her two drinks, she pulled herself toward him.

Buffy climbed on top of his struggling body, ignoring his high-pitched protestations, and moved her mouth towards his neck. That was when something suddenly hit her; she wasn't sure what at first, and then everything looked different and she hated what she was doing. She turned round to look at Jonathan and then realised he'd done the same spell as Willow, he'd given her back her soul. Great, a vampire with a soul - it wasn't even that original.

"Please don't eat me," pleaded Andrew.

Just the thought now repulsed her, her stomach was eager but her soul would never forgive her. She pulled herself away from Andrew, and looked down at the fear in his face.

"You can have anything?" he said, offering her his car keys. "Take the van. It's got gadgets and gizmos aplenty."

She grabbed the keys from his hand in shock, as her eyes focused on the name on the gravestone behind him - Dawn Summers. She knew she had to get away from here, away from this tasty-looking duo, but her legs were not currently made for walking. She pushed herself off Andrew, then looked over at The Duo and snarled, desperate to remove their type O temptations. Fortunately they took the hint and quickly ran off into the night.

And so, Buffy began her arduous crawl to the black van, pulled herself in, and closed the door behind her. She looked around at the junk on display. It was as if they were preparing for a war.

She sat down and started straightening out her limbs, which made cracking sounds as she pushed the bones back into place. Finally, sweat pouring down her face, she fell asleep and dreamed a dream of her Sire.