A New Slayer in Town

A/N: This story is, as you may have guessed, very AU. Sunnydale was not sucked into the earth, for one thing; for another, Buffy Summers has been dead eight years, and only now is the new Slayer moving to the town—Buffy's death protected Sunnydale until the new Slayer was old enough to continue the fight. Most of this will be explained within the story, but a little background knowledge shouldn't go amiss. (Oh, and PS, I don't take kindly to flaming or bashing, so if you don't like my fic and want to trash it, don't waste your energy. I'm always open to constructive criticism, however. Also, I apologize for the length of this chapter, but I hope it engages you just the same.) Have fun reading, and enjoy!

I

"Why are we stuck out here again?" The petulant whine came from a slender girl standing by the side of an empty highway, vigorously rubbing her bare arms. The girl standing beside her simply sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Veronica, I'm sorry my car battery died, but it's not my fault you lost your purse… and your shoes… and your jacket… where did that guy you were jonesing say he was putting your things, again?" At the last point, the teenager's voice carried a distinct 'I told you so' tone; the slight smirk flitting about her mouth emphasized the feeling.

"How was I supposed to know that he was just some college dropout creep who wouldn't know a fabulous woman if she did a strip tease in front of him?" Veronica replied, pouting now and shivering. "And you know I hate being called that, Esmeralda," she added, giving the girl beside her a baleful glare.

"Sorry, Ronnie," Izzy replied, ignoring the use or her own full name and laughing, "and I hate to say I told you so..." She paused for a minute, seeming to think about something. She continued in a cheerful tone, "Well, actually, I don't hate to. I did tell you so, after all."

"Oh, quit looking so smug," Ronnie snapped, scowling now. "You know I've always had bad taste in guys."

"And yet you never listen to me, even though I know that you always fall for the bad ones," Izzy replied, with a smirk badly hidden by a sigh of mock-pity. Her face softened after a few seconds. "Sorry Ronnie, I'm just tired and… I think I had a little… too much to…" Izzy stuttered to a halt, the roar of an approaching car-engine filling her ears. The oncoming headlights were blindingly bright, and Izzy couldn't see the drivers of the car, but she had an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach, something she knew all too well. "Oh fuck no…" she murmured, cursing inwardly as well as out loud.

"What… what is it, Iz?" Ronnie asked, her dark eyes anxiously searching her best friend's face, though when the car pulled up in front of them, she turned to check out the drivers. She was busy with her mouth hanging open, and didn't notice the strange look passing through Izzy's eyes.

The man in the driver's seat glanced over at the two of them, a seductive smile curving his mouth. "What're a couple of babes like you doin' out here all alone, this time of night?" he asked, his eyes locked on Izzy's. He didn't miss the emotions visible there, but his smile only widened. He turned his eyes on Ronnie, who seemed to melt (metaphorically speaking). "Need a lift?"

"Oh, hell yeah," Ronnie murmured, walking towards the car without a second's hesitation. When Izzy grabbed her arm she stopped, but she didn't stop looking.

The driver frowned for a moment, staring hard at Izzy. "How 'bout it, love? It isn't safe to be all alone like this at night. In the dark. By a deserted road. Where anyone can find you." The threat was there. Thinly veiled, but it was there.

"You creeps just can't leave me alone, can you? What is it, am I wearing Eau d'Bloodsucking Monster all over me or what?" Izzy pushed Ronnie back, plunging her hand into her bag and withdrawing two stakes. "I think you fellas wanna leave, right now, and leave me and my friend alone. Now." Izzy's voice was sharp, her face a mask of anger and deadly determination, but the vampires only laughed.

"Oh please, honey, you don't know what you're dealin' with, do you?" At that, the driver's smile widened as his face changed, the vampire showing itself. His friend did the same, and Ronnie shrieked, stumbling backwards and tripping over a rock—she hit her head when she fell, and went out cold. "Pity," the driver said, looking at her with a sigh. "I do so love it when they scream. Oh well. I get that one," he added, nodding his head at Izzy. His passenger sighed, but agreed—apparently the blood of an unconscious girl was better than no blood at all.

By this time, Izzy was laughing. Not hysterically, and her arms were crossed, stakes still at the ready. "Oh please. You're the one who doesn't know jack shit." Her face turned serious once more. "Touch my friend, and I will dust your ass before you can blink. Hell, I'll dust you anyway, but it seemed like the right thing to say." She smiled, deceptively sweet, at the driver, throwing one stake a split-second later. It caught the second vampire through the heart, showering the driver with dust. He looked mildly alarmed, but the smile was back and the bloodlust evident as he looked back at Izzy. She sighed, shaking her head and flipping the other stake in one hand.

"You know," she said, "I've been avoiding you freaks for a while now. I don't like having to nearly get sucked dry whenever I go for a night on the town. I'm not a Slayer, whatever that idiot British stiff thinks. But still you bastards just won't leave me alone. Do you animals just have a natural death wish or something? Because you're all, like, fatally stupid. If you weren't, you wouldn't push me."

"Are you done talking, sweetheart? 'Cause I wouldn't mind skipping to the 'sucking dry' part now, if you are." The vampire grinned, revealing his serrated upper teeth and fangs, his yellow eyes glimmering in the light of the half-moon. Izzy lifted an eyebrow, shaking her head and chuckling.

"You know, you vamps should really get a dentist to look at those teeth. What's to stop you poking a hole in your tongue?" Izzy rushed the vampire, who was standing outside his car by now; he caught her arm between his hands, the stake a hairsbreadth from plunging into his chest. He twisted it viciously to the side and flipped her over onto the car's hood, grinning at the sound of her crying out in pain. "That all you got?" she asked, getting to her feet and flipping from the car's hood, landing in front of the vamp, dusting him a second later.

Izzy sat down, leaning against the car's driver side door, breathing heavily and massaging her arm—her elbow had been dislocated, and her shoulder wrenched from her socket. A few sickening pops later, and Iz was shaking out her arm, muttering curse words under her breath, of a variety that would make a sailor blush. "Any chance for a ride without the blood sucking?" she asked herself out loud as she stood up, dusting herself off. Turning, she caught a glance through the car's window, and noticed the keys in the ignition. A grin lit her features, and she turned, grabbing a still-unconscious Ronnie and lifting her into the car's back seat. "This'll do fine."

With that, Izzy floored the gas pedal, roaring off down the high way, leaving yet another battle behind.

II

"So… this is Sunnydale. Why did we want to move here again?" Izzy asked as she ran a hand through her shoulder-length dark hair, twisting it up into a sloppy bun; her blue-grey eyes gave the house and yard before her an appraising glance, and what she saw was not at all appealing.

"Oh, honey," her mother said, shaking her head at her daughter's expression. "It's not that bad! It's a nice house, in a nice neighborhood, filled with nice—"

"I get it, Mom… it's a nice place." Izzy somehow did not seem to enjoy this fact.

"Your mom is right, Izzy. I know it's no New York, but we'll make it work." Her father walked up behind his wife and daughter, gazing at the house as well. "And you know we had no choice." This last was followed by an apologetic sigh from Izzy, and a sharp intake of breath from her mother.

"I know there was trouble in NY, dad… but, come on. Could you have picked anything smaller and less like back home?" She turned to her parents, crossing her arms and glowering, though she seemed to think better of her question. "I… don't wanna know." She shook her head and went inside, heading straight up the stairs to the attic, where her room was supposed to be.

"Welcome to Sunny Hell," she muttered when she saw her new room. The entire ceiling was on a slant, barely two feet from the floor at one end. The other wall was dominated by a large window with whitewashed shutters and cheerful, lacey yellow curtains. The walls and ceiling themselves were painted in the same butterscotch shade, the carpet a slightly darker ocher, and the bedspread a brighter yellow than sunshine. Thankfully the blankets and sheets were white; Izzy had never liked yellow. "First things first…" she muttered as she picked the bedspread up, holding it carefully between two fingers as though it were diseased—the expression on her face suggested that it was. She dumped it in the wastebasket beside her desk, a mahogany rolltop affair, the surface of which was currently dominated by her computer monitor and several very large boxes containing most of her things. The rest of her boxes resided near her closet, which was half the size she had been expecting. "Great, just great," Izzy said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She was looking at all her boxes, and then at all the space (or lack thereof) she had in which to put it. Groaning, she collapsed on her bed; unpacking could come later. She had had an exhausting week.

III

Date: October 19, 2008

"Izzy? Honey, school starts in half an hour!" Mrs. Clarke sighed, shaking her head and knocking on the door again. "Esmeralda, you need to get up and get ready!" She smiled softly to herself at the sound of something hitting the door, followed by an irritated 'Don't call me Esmeralda'.

Izzy moaned, cracking her eyes open against the glare of the sunlight filtering through the curtains. She had never been an early riser, and a glance at her bedside radio showed that it was seven-thirty—for someone who preferred to wake up at noon, it was far too early. "Do I have to go to school?" she grumbled to herself as she got out of bed, stumbling to her nearest clothing box and digging through it for an outfit.

Grabbing the first things that came to hand, she slipped into a pair of black leggings, a jean miniskirt, a form-fitting black T-shirt with a flaming cross on the front, and a pair of black knee-high stiletto boots. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, put on some lip gloss and a little grey eye shadow, and, glancing in her reflection in the mirror hanging on her closet door, she grabbed her backpack (which her mother had packed for her the night before, when it was clear that Izzy wasn't planning to do so until the morning before school) and headed out of her room.

"What's for breakfast, Mom?" Izzy asked as she entered the kitchen, grabbing her car keys from the counter.

"Eggs, toast, sausage, and orange juice," Mrs. Clarke replied, turning from the stove and setting the sausage pan on the table. Izzy grabbed a piece of buttered toast on her way out of the house.

IV

Sunnydale High School was less than impressive—for someone used to a big city High School, at least. Hell, my Class in New York was probably bigger than this whole school, Iz thought, as she parked in an open space in the student lot and walked towards the office building. Small town. Everybody probably knows everybody. I wonder if they even bother to keep their doors locked. Izzy shook her head at that thought—one of the things that had gotten her in trouble in New York, aside from the vampire killing (she refused to call it Slaying) and the fights at school, was her involvement with street gangs; it often involved some kind of stealing. She had been the one to gain entry to the houses, but she had sworn to her parents that she would leave that life behind with the move, and whatever else she was and had been, she never broke her word.

Izzy's thoughts, vague inclinations, and minor urges carried her to the school's main office. "Ugh, who decorated this joint?" she muttered aloud, glancing at the puke green carpet, and the pastel flowers on a buttery yellow background on the walls. "And what is this place's fascination with yellow? I know it's named Sunnydale, but damn!"

"Can I help you?"

Izzy turned towards the front desk, eyeing the severe-looking, bespectacled woman sitting behind it, glaring at Iz as though speaking her mind was a crime. Hell, for all I know, it could be, she thought, though she kept her mouth shut for once. "Hi, yeah… I'm Esmeralda Clarke, I'm new here." The woman didn't blink, twitch, or move in any way; if it weren't for the slight rustle of her clothes, Izzy would have sworn she wasn't breathing. "Um… could I get my schedule and stuff?" Still no movement. "Please?" The woman looked down at the papers on the desk before her, nodding and lifting a rather large packet of information and handing it to Izzy.

"Here you are, Miss Clarke. You'll find the school's policies, rules, calendar, and other pertinent information, as well as a map of the school and your class schedule here. I need not say that I hope not to see you here again; most students sent here are to be sent into the principal's office, and no one wants that, least of all you. You may go now, first period starts in five minutes." The woman looked back down at her desk, a clear sign of dismissal.

She's a ray of sunshine, that one, Izzy thought, grimacing at the top of the woman's head before leaving the office, glancing down at the map of the school the secretary had given her. She was so absorbed in the map that she barely realized she had run into someone, until she heard a slight grunt of pain and looked up, realizing that she had barreled right into someone and knocked them down. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry," Izzy said, bending over to help the girl pick up her scattered books and papers. When she stood up, handing the materials back to their owner, Izzy noticed a rather wary expression on the girl's face. "What? I'm not gonna bite, you know." Iz lifted an eyebrow, wondering what the deal was.

"Oh… oh, sorry 'bout that," the girl, who looked to be no older than Izzy, said, reaching out to take her things and put them in her bag. "I'm not used to help is all," she added, offering Iz a grateful smile. "I'm Larka."

"No worries, seriously. I was the one who wasn't paying attention, so of course I would help. Not that I wouldn't help anyway…" Izzy trailed off, realizing she was starting to babble. I never used to do that, she thought. I must really want to make a good impression here. No clue why. "I'm Izzy. Well, my name's Esmeralda, but I hate being called that," she said, introducing herself.

"Why not? Esmeralda's a pretty name!" Larka asked, surprise coloring her soft voice.

Iz laughed, shaking her head. "Yeah, pretty enough, but it's not me. Mom named me after the gypsy in Hunchback of Notre Dame… do I look like a gypsy?" Izzy paused, glancing at Larka, who only shrugged with a shy smile. "On second thought, I don't really want you to answer that." Larka's smile widened into something less cautious.

"I know the feeling. Mom wanted to name me Meadow Lark, but Dad didn't want a kid named Meadow… so Mom took Lark and added an 'a', and got Larka… and I should really stop talking now…" Larka's face flushed as she turned away.

Izzy reached out, but thought better of restraining her—she knew how she herself reacted to being touched unexpectedly from behind. "Wait, Larka, you don't have to—"

"No, really, I should. The 'In' girls are coming this way. I wouldn't want to ruin your chances," Larka replied, turning around and glancing nervously over Izzy's shoulder. Looking around to see who was making Larka so nervous, Iz saw a group of five girls, four of them surrounding the obvious Queen Bee; they were all blatantly staring at Izzy, as though unable to decide if she was worth their time.

"So, you're the new girl in town." The 'In' girls had reached the two of them, and the Queen Bee was addressing Izzy. It wasn't a question, so the young girl simply crossed her arms, waiting for more. The Queen Bee spoke up again after a lengthy pause, in which it became obvious that Izzy wasn't about to say anything. "You're Esmeralda Clarke, right?"

Izzy nodded. "Yeah, but I go by Izzy. Who're you?"

"My name's Chastity. These are my friends Melanie, Melody, Francesca, and Dèsirèe." As they were introduced, each girl gave a slight smile and nod. Izzy was surprised to see actual variety—they weren't all the usual blond bimbos you expected to see. Francesca had an exotic Spanish-American look, with thick, black hair and chocolate colored eyes. Dèsirèe was French, with dark red hair and eyes a bright hazel. Melanie and Melody were a contrast in differences; Melanie had straight, bright yellow hair and very light grey eyes, complete with pale skin, whereas Melody's hair was thick and curly, nearly black, her eyes about the same color, and her skin had the look of naturally dark coloring. Chastity looked like your average blond-haired, blue-eyed bombshell, though unlike most of the bimbos Izzy had run into in her day, there was a kind of sharp intelligence in her eyes. As Izzy was appraising them, Chastity seemed to have given her a cursory look-over, and evidently liked, at least somewhat, what she saw—she hadn't acknowledged Larka's presence at all.

"We pretty much run this school," Chastity eventually said, "and we can show you the In's and Out's here, that will keep you in the popular circle. You're new here, and we'd like you to feel welcome!" Her voice was filled with practiced cheerfulness that obviously seemed to come naturally to her. "Now come on, we can take you to your first class."

Izzy gave Chastity a grateful smile, though she took the time to say she'd see Larka later, before joining the group as they led her to her first class, which happened to be Chemistry; she was mildly surprised that her first class was something she was actually good at. Izzy handed her schedule to Chastity, who immediately gave her the breakdown of teachers. "Oh, you've got Mrs. Westman for Chemistry, she's one you want to watch out for. No one ever talks in her class, hardly; she's pretty scary. Mr. Goldwyn's pretty cool, for a math teacher. You can always get away with a nap in his class, he keeps the notes on his board all period. Ms. Smith is the boring History teacher…"

As she talked, Izzy took the time to look around at the campus, and the people walking through it. Her first guess had been about right—there probably were less people in this whole school than were in her Junior Class back home. Her mother had been excited about the school's small size; she'd called it homey. "You'll get to know a lot of people, I'm sure you'll make good friends!" she'd said, though Izzy knew she'd meant 'better' friends, as opposed to the street gang she'd been an integral part of since she was twelve.

Iz tuned in again as Chastity gave the brush-off to a couple 'losers' in her way, and advised Izzy on what to look for and who to avoid. New York born and bred, Izzy couldn't help but sneer at Chastity's definition of loser; if she had been in New York, she'd have been dissed with the worst of them. You weren't really anybody in a big New York High School if your daddy didn't buy you clothes right from Sacs, unless you earned your place out of ridicule by kicking peoples' asses, which is how Izzy had managed to fit in so well; after half a semester and one suspension at High School, no one dared insult Izzy within earshot, for fear of getting a broken nose. She didn't particularly care what people thought of her, but she liked it when they were afraid; the only people who knew her well enough not to be scared were her friends, and they could all hold their own relatively well. Given the students she'd seen so far, she doubted that anyone here would be able to make it to her inner circle; most of them seemed like a good, stiff breeze would blow them away.

"So, here's your Chem class," Chastity was saying, pointing to a door. "Your next class is just down the hall there, and the classes are pretty easy to find after that. Between classes you should go to the library for your books—it's right at the end of the hall. I'll see you in Math after lunch. Later!" She and her group turned, flouncing off down the hall; Izzy watched them go with an amused half-smile. They wouldn't last five minutes in downtown New York, she thought, laughing to herself as she headed to Chemistry.

Once inside she looked around for a good seat, and spotted Larka sitting at an otherwise-empty lab table. "Hey, mind if I sit here?" Izzy asked, trying to imagine the face of anyone she knew who heard her actually asking.

Larka looked startled, but she gave a pleased smile. "Oh, no, not at all! Would you… do you want me to move? I could move, if, y'know, you want me too…"

"No, please, I don't want you to move. You seem pretty cool, and I wouldn't mind getting to know you. I know Chastity and her crew are supposed to be the shit around here, but I've seen people like them before. So not interested." Larka laughed, a sound surprisingly pleasing on the ears. Izzy marveled at how expressive the girl's dark green eyes were; most people she knew thought that showing emotion was showing a sign of weakness, and on the street weakness got you killed.

"You really are way different," Larka was saying. "I mean, not in a bad way, just… a different way. Most new kids would take those girls over us weirdoes any day. Though, we don't get many new students, and those we do don't usually get a chance at popularity off the bat like that, but I've never seen any of the ones that have turn it down, until you came… and I'm babbling now, aren't I? Sorry. Bad habit."

"No, no, it's fine!" It was Izzy's turn to laugh, though she thought it sounded odd—she wasn't used to laughing in a way that wasn't scathing, sarcastic, or negative. Must be the clean air, she thought, grinning inwardly; that was certainly something new to her.

Mrs. Westman walked in at that moment, and judging from the way the class quieted instantly, Izzy could tell that she was not a teacher to cross. Westman started lecturing almost the second after the tardy bell rang, and looking around Izzy saw that most everyone else had out paper and a pen and was studiously scribbling. Damn, she's got them all whipped! Izzy thought, surprised that any teacher, even one at a small town High School, would have that kind of control. Still, she decided to play along, though she realized a few seconds later that this chapter was one she'd already done at her old school. Where the hell did I put my notes? I know I had them with the other stuff… she thought, rummaging through her backpack and finally withdrawing a few crumpled pieces of paper with notes scribbled in what hardly looked like English; Izzy was practically the only one who could read her writing.

Chemistry was one of the few things (the others being math classes and World History) that she'd paid attention to in school. Usually, she just coasted through, absorbing information, tossing off homework at five in the morning, and testing well (which was mostly what kept her grades up). With Chemistry, though, she was utterly fascinated. It amazed her that human kind had come so far in the sciences; there was a stark beauty in learning the fundamental components that made up the body, the chemical compositions that formed the mind, the precise formula of the adrenaline that so often flooded through her veins. With math she was the same way, utterly enthralled by the ability to coerce numbers into different forms and combinations, stuff them into one end of a formula and see them change at the other end; and of course, with history, she had always been in awe of the world at large and what it had accomplished, through war and peace, through leisure and starvation.

The period seemed to fly by, as did the time in every class Izzy actually enjoyed, whereas the boring things dragged on for ages. When the bell did ring, Izzy quickly packed her things, and was halfway through the door when Mrs. Westman stopped her. "Esmeralda, a moment please?" Wondering what she could have done to get on the teacher's bad side in one class period, Izzy walked to her desk, not bothering to correct her on the name, as she didn't want to get in Westman's bad book any more than she might already have been.

"Yes?" Izzy asked, in the best imitation of innocence she could pull off, even when she hadn't done anything wrong.

"Oh, you're not in trouble, Miss Clarke," Westman said, guessing correctly at Izzy's initial fear, and showing the first hint of a smile Izzy had seen from her—it looked surprisingly natural, on a face so severe without it. "I'm guessing you don't have a Chemistry book yet," she continued, posing the question as a statement.

"Oh… no, ma'am," Izzy replied, surprised into saying 'ma'am' by the sudden smile, and how it was gone just as quickly.

Mrs. Westman nodded. "Well then, stop by the Library on your way to your next class—I expect you to be prepared for class tomorrow. I will write you a pass, you may as well pick up your other schoolbooks while you are there." As she spoke, she pulled a pad of yellow 'student pass' slips toward her and filled one out in the typical scientist's scrawl, ripping the sheet off and handing it to Izzy, who took off without another word. Something about the Chemistry teacher gave Izzy the creeps.

V

"Hello? Mr. Librarian person?" Izzy's voice rang through the dim school library. It struck her as odd that none of the lights were on. Is he even here? she wondered, looking around as she cautiously walked towards the front desk. She jumped a little when she turned again and saw a young man behind the desk, eyeing her curiously. "Oh! Uh… do you librarian guys always do that?" she asked, wondering why she was suddenly so jumpy.

"You're Esmeralda Clarke?" the man asked, though it sounded like he knew already and the question was just a formality; he ignored her question.

Ok, not creepy at all… he is hot, though, she realized with surprise; she had thought all librarians were old and wrinkly and grouchy, but this one didn't look like he could be more than a few years over twenty, and he was very good looking; of course, Izzy had a thing for hot men with English accents, and this guy was obviously British. The clipped, English accent said it all. She realized she was staring, and hoped there wasn't any drool in evidence. "Uh, yeah… I prefer Izzy," she mumbled, feeling rather awkward; the librarian was staring hard, making Izzy want to check for stains or lettuce in her teeth, though she hadn't eaten anything but toast since morning.

"Are you here for books?" the man asked, again a statement posed as a polite question, as he seemed to come to some conclusion about Izzy. She only nodded, this time, as he ducked behind his counter and emerged with a stack of thick, musty books—none of them looked like a Chemistry text book. In fact, Izzy distinctly saw the word 'Vampire' on the cover of the top book in the pile.

She felt like a cornered cat. Fuck! she thought, shaking her head and taking several steps back. "Not again! You guys never fucking quit, do you?" The librarian seemed taken aback by Izzy's display of vehement anger, obviously not expecting quite this reaction. "Just get me my damn school books," Izzy demanded, forcing herself to approach the desk to slap the pass she'd gotten from Westman down in front of him. "Chemistry, US History, Pre-Cal, English 11, and Latin, and that's it. None of this vampire shit. I'm not who you idiots think I am; I'm normal, got it? Normal. So don't try to shove any of this crap down my throat." Izzy pushed the books of demonic and vampiric lore back across the front desk rather roughly, causing a few to topple from the stack to the floor. The librarian (a name bar on the desk said he was Alexander Walker) seemed floored by her denial, and pulled several more books from stacks scattered around the library.

"Here you are, Miss Clarke," Mr. Walker said stiffly, handing her the stack, obviously highly affronted. Well, let him be, Izzy thought as she turned and walked out of the library, though she had a feeling that this wasn't the last she'd have to hear from him—it never was. I never asked for any of this. I just wish they'd leave me alone!

VI

Lunch, my favorite time of day, Izzy thought, brushing her bangs from her eyes and glancing at the sun, high in the sky. It was just past noon, and Izzy was absolutely ravenous. As she entered the quad area, looking for Larka, she noticed the 'In' girls trying to catch her eye. Pretending she didn't see them, Izzy turned and headed the other way… running into someone for the second time that day. This time, however, the person didn't fall over. "Oh, sorry," she heard him say, and she found she had to look up, something she had to do with few people. She lifted an eyebrow, duly impressed; she hadn't thought she'd find someone so good looking in this backwater town.

His smile's nice, she thought, though she realized that his smile was mildly amused, and that she was staring. Again. "Oh, hey, no problem," she said, flashing her own grin and recovering her dignity.

"You're new here, right?" he said, tilting his head and looking at her as if trying to figure out if he'd seen her somewhere before.

"Is it that obvious?" Izzy asked, with a mock-despairing laugh, tinged with sarcasm; she'd never thought she'd see a place where she'd stick out more than at that prep school her parents had tried sending her to, in the hopes of 'straightening her out'.

The boy chuckled, shaking his head. "No… well, yeah, but mostly only because everybody pretty much knows everybody around here, at least by face. We don't get new faces very often," he explained, shrugging as though it didn't really matter, and he'd just been curious.

Izzy was about to say something, when a familiar voice sounded near them. "Matt!" Larka called out, weaving her way through the crowd in the quad towards Izzy and the other boy (who was obviously Matt, as he looked up when he heard her). When Larka reached them, she continued, "Are you trying to put the moves on another unsus- oh, hi Izzy!" Her voice was surprised as she recognized Iz, then looked up at Matt. "You know, she could probably kick your ass," she stage whispered, making Izzy laugh.

"It's not his fault, Larka, I ran into him," she said, running intervention, though the whole meeting was striking her as highly amusing. "So, where do you guys eat?" she spoke up, suddenly changing the subject to what had really been on her mind since the bell had rung.

"Oh, wherever there's room… there's a place by the fountain!" Larka replied, pointing and leading the way. "Ooh, and there's Sandra!" Larka's voice was almost a squeal, and Izzy wondered what the hype was, until she saw the girl. Even Iz, New York City born and bred, was floored.

Sandra was what Izzy considered smoking hot (though she didn't swing that way); her hair was a violent shade of purple and completely straight, layered to frame her face and fall just below her shoulders. Her eyes were a lighter violet shade, and Izzy's immediate thought was contacts—that kind of eye color didn't exist in nature. Also, her pupils were slitted, like a cat's. She was very, very pale—pale enough to be a vampire, except for the fact that she was sitting in a direct pool of sunlight. Her clothes, too, were designed to draw the eye—she was dressed in all black, a very Goth-like ensemble, with baggy cargo pants criss-crossed with chains (which, Izzy realized a moment later, were formed from inter-locking trinity knots), a tight, plain black T-shirt, several rings, all silver, on both hands, combat boots, and a delicate silver pentacle attached to a black choker around her neck. She was wearing lipstick and eye shadow the same color as her hair, and she had three silver hoops in each ear, but those were her only piercings.

"Who is she?" Izzy breathed, more shocked by the fact that she was so impressed by anyone in a town called Sunnydale. She'd come expecting to be bored out of her skull.

Larka looked delighted at Izzy's reaction. "Her name's Sandra Ford. She, Matt, and I have been best friends since we were four, but she kinda went her own way when we hit high school. We don't get to see her much anymore… Actually," Lark added, tilting her head, "she doesn't make class much. Hey, Sandra!" They'd reached the fountain, and Sandra looked up, a crooked smile on her face; her eyes met Izzy's, and the young girl wondered at the expression. It almost looked like Sandra had been expecting her.

"Hey, guys. This the new girl?" It was more of a statement than a question, since, like everyone else, she could probably spot newcomers a hundred miles away. "I'm Sandra," she added, sticking out her hand.

"Izzy," Esmeralda replied, returning the handshake, surprised at how firm Sandra's was; usually girls had spaghetti-noodle arms when it came to handshakes. "Nice hair," she added, still admiring the color scheme; most people she saw who chose that look also went for pincushion faces, a gazillion pieces of jewelry, and their hair looked ready to fall out. On Sandra, though, the look was natural—besides, she didn't have any facial piercings, which was always a plus in Izzy's book.

Sandra flashed a white smile. "Thanks. I like yours too, though, have you ever considered red streaks?"

The lunch hour was proving promising. Larka, Matt, Sandra, and Izzy sat by the fountain talking and (mostly in Izzy's case) eating, asking Izzy about life in New York (though she discreetly avoided why she'd moved, saying only that it was her parents decision). Minutes before the bell rang, Sandra asked, "Hey, have you guys told Iz about the Bronze?" They hadn't. "Well, that should've been the first thing you told her about! The Bronze is, like, the only place anything remotely cool happens around here. Actually, it's a pretty fun hangout. You should definitely come hang with us tonight."

Wow, there might actually be something good about this town, Izzy thought, grinning. "I'll be there."

VII

Later That Night

"Are you absolutely certain?" The gravelly voice of a hulking demon resonated through the 'otherworldly' bar—really just a dive for demons and vampires to get drinks more to their taste. "You better be sure, vermin," the demon continued, bright red eyes boring into the face of the vampire he had clutched tightly by his shirt collar.

"Yeah, man, I'm dead serious!" he insisted, laughing at his pun, though he quieted at another vicious shake from the demon. "There's a new Slayer in SunnyD, I swear! I gots way reliable sources, man!"

The demon scowled, disgust apparent (to other demons; most people wouldn't be able to tell one expression from another on that hideous face) as he released the vampire, albeit a little reluctantly. Demons were notorious for thinking vampires the scum of their world. "Sunnydale's got a new Slayer, boys," the demon said, glancing around at his brethren, grouped around him, the vampire having since scampered. "Looks like it isn't such a dump after all; we may get to have a little fun here." The demons laughed in eager anticipation. "But first, let's get back to the game," the first demon added, and the group returned to the nearby poker table where they had been seated.

Another patron sat at the bar, a mug of dark red liquid, probably O-neg, in front of him, nearly empty. While he didn't seem to be paying attention to anything but his drink, he had been listening intently. "She's here," Angel murmured, draining the rest of the blood and setting the mug on the counter. "About time," he added, his dark coat billowing behind him as he left the bar, disappearing into the night.

VIII

"Impressive."

Izzy whirled around, stake poised to strike, as the soft, unfamiliar voice drifted towards her from the shadows. A man emerged from the shelter of the trees to her left, very pale in the moon's silver glow, and extraordinarily handsome. So, of course, Izzy's instincts screamed vampire; curiosity prevented her from staking him on the spot, though she didn't let her guard down. Something seemed… different about this man, even if he wasn't a vamp. "Who're you?" she asked, her tone guarded and defensive.

He ignored the question. "So, you're the Slayer," he said instead, meeting her eyes as a soft smile touched his lips. "I wondered when you'd get here."

The young girl's guarded frown turned into a scathing glare, and she crossed her arms, hands curling into fists. "I am not the Slayer!" she growled through clenched teeth. "And you didn't answer my question. Who the hell are you?"

The man laughed softly, shaking his head; Izzy was beginning to think he really was a vampire. For one thing, he was ridiculously good looking. For another, she felt the familiar, sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach, the one that usually meant a vampire was around. Still, she half hoped he was a good guy—it would be a shame to dust such a looker. "I didn't realize you were in denial." He raised his hands in a gesture of peace, warding off any pointed words she might have been about to throw at him as Izzy's glower deepened. "In my defense, you did just dust five vampires, and only three of them were newborns."

Izzy arched an eyebrow. "You've been watching me?" It was more a statement than a question. She wondered how much he'd seen, and if he'd been following her from when she left the Bronze, or if he'd been waiting here, for her to conveniently show up. She was leaning towards the former.

"Well, of course. I've been waiting for you to come to Sunnydale for eight years. I had to make sure you were really her."

"Well, I'm not!" Izzy snapped, wondering just what he meant by 'waiting for you'.

"Pity," he said with a sigh; before Izzy could blink, almost faster than her eye could follow, he plunged his hand into a coat pocket, withdrew a stake, and threw it straight at her. Izzy dropped to the ground and rolled, coming to her feet a second later, stake at the ready—until she heard the scream of a dying vamp behind her. She turned, looking from the cloud of dust to the man who'd dusted it. He looked highly amused.

"I could've taken it," Izzy grumbled as she brushed dirt and leaves from her sweater.

"I'm sure of that. You're the Slayer, after all."

Izzy felt another sharp stab of anger, but it was somewhat dampened by the fact that he'd just saved her life. What the girl found most perturbing was that she'd been so caught up in this tall, dark, and mysterious stranger, that she hadn't noticed a vampire sneaking up on her. That she'd had to be saved at all spoke volumes, and she wondered again who this man was, that he'd absorbed her attention so fully. "No, I'm not," Izzy said again, though this time with much less vehemence. "Now, will you please tell me who you are? 'Cause if you're a vamp I'd like to know sooner rather than later."

The man laughed again. "Don't worry about that," he said. "I'm on your side. You can call me Angel."

"Angel? That's an awfully girly name…" Izzy winced inwardly as the words popped out of her mouth. 'Word vomit strikes again.'

Angel only chuckled. "You are the Slayer, whether you'll admit it or not. I'll see you around." He began walking away, before Izzy could deny it yet again. Then he stopped, turning to look back at her; a shiver ran down Iz's spine as their eyes met. "Catch," he murmured, tossing a small black box to Izzy, who caught it deftly in one hand. Inside was a small, intricate cross on a silver chain. She looked up to thank him, but she was alone; Angel had gone.