Chapter 9: Beginnings

I returned to my room was around two. The door gave way easily and I stumbled in, shocked. Frankly I was fully expecting her to lock the door and tonight would be an uncomfortable one spent out in the hallway. But then my shock faded as I stared at her empty bed. A note laid on the sheets and through the paper I could tell only a short note was scribbled there, but not even bothering with it, I snatched the paper up, crumpled it and chucked it in the direction of the trash bin, not looking to see whether the wad of paper made it home or not.

My feet and fingers were numb from the cold outside and for the first time since arrival, I despised the cold sheets and my insides burned for another smoke. But I was so damn tired. So, telling my insides to shut up, I yanked the covers over my head and fell into a fitful sleep, true sleep lasting about five seconds before the horrible nightmares returned.

The slam of a door woke me the next morning and I realized Ericka hadn't woken me up in time for classes. Swearing heavily I bolted from the bed and yanked on clothes. The door flew open at the twist of my hand and I took off like a bullet down the hallway. Normally I probably wouldn't have been late, barely making the mark . . . if I hadn't ripped open doors that led to a pantry, a closet, two empty classrooms and a small dorm room.

"Damn it," I hissed and finally found another door that looked familiar. I yanked the handle away and found Tremaine walking across the floor. His blue-grey eyes swiveled up to me in a waiting glare.

"Sorry," I muttered, gasping low breath. "Over slept."

My eyes dashed down to the front where I spotted the blonde hair swept back in waves. She and Yuri were adamantly ignoring me.

"Well, since you've overcome the belief that the world will wait for you," Tremaine said pointedly. "Please take a seat and do not waste another moment in my class."

Smarmy jerk. Where did he get off acting like he was God's gift? Oh right, stinkin' teacher and a Watcher. And stupidly British. With a deeper scowl that wasn't aimed completely at Tremaine, I sunk into a nearby chair.

"Now that past that interruption, lets begin something that is essential to your Slayer training."

If anyone in the room was still thinking about the new girl's tardiness, that train of thought was immediately gone. Everyone sat up straighter and listened intently. Tremaine noticed this sudden abrupt attention in a wide sweep of his eyes, which flickered with the ghost of a smirk for a fraction of a second.

"As most of you might know, there is a large evil coming after you new Slayers."

And if they didn't, they certainly did now.

"Buffy, the Slayer who did what no one else dared to even dream about, believes it is important for me as a Watcher to show you the origin of your power. She believes if you understand it, you can wield it properly."

Tremaine then moved to a light switch, lowering the glare in the room to a hazy glow.

"At the very beginning, there was only one Slayer and her Watcher, her guide. As a descendent of the men who gave the first Slayer her power, he used the knowledge of his ancestors to train her in combat, in magical items and to steer her through her dreams of Slayers past."

He then put a small box onto the center of his desk, opened it and brought out a circular metal object, placing that on his desk as well. At the very center of the device, a black candle sat in the dark until Tremaine flicked it to life from the flame of a match. Half of his gray face was burning in shadow, his eyes swimming in unreadable darkness.

"For, into each generation a Slayer is born. One girl in all the world, a Chosen One. One born with the strength and skill to fight vampires. To stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their numbers."

Boom. Boom. Boom.

Somewhere, certainly not in the classroom, a tribal drumbeat was heard and the metal object on Tremaine's desk began to spin.

"First, there was nothing but the Earth." A voice said and there was a moment before I realized it was Tremaine speaking. His voice was low and heavy, like he was asleep. With his back to the class, he bent down and picked up something else from the box, he placed it onto the spinning device.

"Then for thousands and thousands of years, the demons ruled, unending and unyielding."

A low screech tore across the room. The first row shivered. In the low light of the candle, the metal representation of the demons were thrown up onto the wall, their shadows dancing like imps. With every turn of the device, the shadows became more than just blackness in light; they were gruesome and dark and evil. They are shadows, a stupid kid's game, I said to myself but soon, I couldn't ignore the hisses and the slithers of demons that were frightfully close. The demons were real.

"Then, out of the ashes and dust left in the wake of the demons, Man was born."

The sound of a man shouting out echoed in the dark. Tremaine added a small stick-figure-like piece to the device and it spun faster. The shadows on the wall moved, though not because of the spinning device. The picture demons and picture man fought together on the wall, the ancient epic battle reduced to fraction of what it really was, the shadows barely doing them justice.

"Man chose a single girl and named her as their protector," Tremaine added a metal illustration of a thin girl, howling out silently, to the mix and immediately the shadows came to life. Man called to this girl and she came, standing in front of him and the blend of furious demons.

"And they fused her with what was in the beginning, the demons. Man took this girl and chained her to this fresh earth and gave her the power of the demons surrounding their world." Tremaine's voice was shaking now as he added the last piece, a metal image of a chain. A light exploded from the center and the device spun faster until it was a blur, while the pictures on the wall shuffled and stirred. Man had thrown the chain upon the girl, like a net and she thrashed and twisted beneath its coils as the demons clicked and jittered. The chain and the girl glowed and suddenly the chain broke away, the girl strong and powerful. Man stepped away as the girl, the one girl, the sole protector of humanity, leapt at the demons.

A ghostly wail came from the shadow pictures as the girl and the demons became a swirling mass of shadow and black. The heap crumpled to the ground, then slowly, the girl rose up from the bulk, victorious.

"As time passed, the majority of the demons left this dimension but some stayed. And others spilt their blood with the humans, making half-breeds like vampires and werewolves. Yet, all feared a single girl. A woman who carried their power within her veins, that word made their blood run cold. Slayer. As a mortal, she died however, but the power was passed on to another girl, and then another."

The shadows on the wall suddenly blended together. The demons and the girl and Man all piled as one black mass, spinning and swirling, until . . .

The metal device exploded and the sound of metal being ripped apart torn across the room, parts flying everywhere. A buzz crossed near my ear and I heard a sharp thud as a metal piece embedded its self into the wood behind me. But still, I didn't turn away from Tremaine. The room was silent and not a single light glowed in the black. All though completely cloaked in darkness, his voice range out like a bell, cold and crisp and right.

"Slayers are always alone, no matter who they surround themselves with or, now, how many of you there are. There will come a day when you will face a demon completely abandoned by everyone you've ever known. It will be a long battle and it will be a hard one. Pain walks hand in hand with a Slayer and Death is always at your heels. You may want to give up, but you can't, especially when it's hard. But in the end, when it comes down to that last minute between you and the demon, you will win, because it's all you have left."

The lights came up and Tremaine was standing in the middle of the classroom. His arms were crossed and with our adjusting eyes, he looked immobile, lifeless, the marrow of life sucked dry. His eyes then moved up from the floor and the spell was broken.

"One girl, one life, was irrevocably changed to make you sit here today. Your power comes from something dark and deadly, you must never forget that, but as humans, you can take that power and make it into something incredible."

Those endless eyes glanced up and took in every single scared face across from him, daring us to challenge our sacred duty. "Only question remaining is . . . will you? Class dismissed."

About a full minute passed before anyone moved and even afterwards, they moved with shaky movements, uncontrolled jitters.

"Oh and if a piece landed near you, please bring it up here."

Finally I stirred awake from my trance and grabbed the piece of metal behind me. It was the representation of the girl, the first Slayer. The girl they enslaved to be their protector. She didn't want this life; it was forced upon her by spineless men. I looked up and I realized I was the last one in the room. Tremaine was packing up the rest of the device.

"Here, last piece," I said gruffly and handed the piece back to him. His light eyes flickered as the object exchanged our hands.

"Yes," Tremaine said. "Last piece of the puzzle, isn't it?"

"I guess." I replied with a slight scowl. His eyes were running over me in a way I certainly didn't appreciate.

Something was stirring in my brain, like little kid grabbing at a too high light switch.

"Um, Watcher Tremaine, Professor Tremaine?"

"Tremaine is fine." The older man replied. He was now reassembling the main circular piece.

"When I was little, I was diagnosed with night terrors and recently, they've come back," I began slowly. "I used to think they were just really horrible dreams but now, here, in this place, I'm not really sure."

I was trying very carefully to not sound completely nuts, and the small smile that cracked his dry lips gave me a small sip of hope.

"No, Reid, you are not insane." Tremaine said and looked at me with thick, sallow, knowing eyes. Ok, maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I should have just left the damn piece on the table and high-tailed it out of here, leaving Crazy Mind-Reader Man to himself.

"Those are not night-terrors," he continued. "They are dreams of Slayers past. They can show you how these Slayers died or their triumphs, all of this real for you and certainly grounds for being terrified."

"I am not scared—," I said firmly but the Watcher plowed on as if I had not said anything.

"They can be used as great gifts. Wonderful assets in a time of need, to know how your fellow Slayers solved their problems. Cherish them and never forget their meaning. While disturbing and horrible, these women died for a cause. They died so that we may live."

Tremaine looked at me with his wide eyes again and searched for my approval. I nodded, as if that was a sign of understanding. He took it that way and closed his briefcase. I was glad to go.

"Have you been looking over that packet I gave you?" He asked quietly as I turned away.

"Um, yeah, interesting stuff. Vampires, definitely weird."

"Yes, vampires. What bizarre creatures." Tremaine said, his eyes suddenly a world away. "So close to being humans and yet so unlike us. They have the body of a man, yet the soul of pure blackness."

Ok, so I guess ALL the pieces weren't put back together the way they were supposed to. "Yeah, totally," I said. "I'm kind of late for my next class, so . . ."

"Oh, right," Tremaine nodded. "Sorry to keep you waiting. Thanks for this."

He twiddled the piece of the Slayer in his hands before putting it back in the box. I shrugged and headed backwards, when again, he called me back.

"Oh, Reid!"

"What?" I turned. Tremaine was holding out a package for me. My brow dipping, I took it from him.

"It's from Buffy," he said. "Said it was for your next class. Extra class, I think was her exact words."

I shook the box. It didn't sound like a pack of C4 I could explode in case the peroxide vampire tried to eat me. I shrugged and nodded thanks to Tremaine, who only nodded back in response.

Out in the hallway I ripped open the package and immediately saw a piece of paper at the top. In swirly handwriting, it read:

Reid-

Figured you didn't have any of these, since we kind of picked you up off the streets. Or a field. Sorry and hope they fit.

Buffy

I scowled at the letter. Hope what fits? I lifted back a sheet of tissue paper and my mouth dropped. The box fell to the floor in surprise.

"I'm not wearing them."

"It's only clothing. Not a death sentence."

"Fine, I wear that and you can wear a fuzzy tutu. Might match your hair."

"These will help you move better, bend easier." Spike said and thrust the box back into my arms. "We're trying out new things today and from that pitiful show last week, you're going to need all the bloody help you can get."

"This won't help me at all!" I cried. "Nothing with the word 'Juicy' written across the ass ever helps anyone!"

I chucked the box to the ground and the Juicy Couture pants, hot pink tank top and running shoes bounced out of the box.

"This is stupid and ridiculous." I scowled at the clothes with crossed arms. "Buffy's just being a bitch."

Spike glanced at me before throwing the clothes back into the box. His glance clearly said, "Well you deserve it."

I wanted to kick him again but by the way he was acting now, it wouldn't have been that big a deal. He acted as if I never threatened his manhood and all that remained was my disgraceful attempt at being a Slayer.

"Look, I'm sure if you just go to her—,"

"And tell her I've figured out her stupid plot to embarrass me to death?" I glared. "Pass on that one, thanks."

His already angled cheekbones drew in further as Spike glared at me with a sharp sigh, sticking the clothes in front of my face. "Just wear the sodding clothes! I'll talk to Buffy myself and ask for a new set. What do you want those to those to say? 'I eat little children for breakfast so stay the hell away!'"

"If it got the message across, then yeah!" I snarled and snatched the clothes out of my line of sight so I could glare perfectly at him. "What about your tutu? I think it should say 'Look at me. I'm a bloody stupid vampire with a bloody stupid soul. I'm depressed and a bad ass so kiss my sodden arse!"

"If it got the point across then, yeah!" Spike roared back. "And I do not talk like that!'

"Yes you do!"

"NO. I don't!"

"Yes. You. DO!"

"No I bloody DON'T!"

My face, full of fury, suddenly broke and changed into a triumphant smirk. Spike's lip curled back and his chest heaved in anger. Then it all fell through and he just scowled.

"Put on the sodding clothes, you stupid bint," he muttered before spinning on his heel and storming out the door.

Fine, but just this one time. I smirked to myself as I took off my jacket and shirt, slipping the pink thing on then. I continued to change, grinning wildly all the time.

Fifteen minutes a much calmer Spike returned and he reeked of smoke, cigarette smoke.

"You know that'll kill you?" I stood up from my spot in the corner.

"Been smoking since before you were a sparkle in your mummy's eye, n' I'm still here, ain't I?" He growled as he stepped onto the mat. "But lung cancer would be fun."

I raised my eyebrow as I followed him onto the mat. My eyes traveled from his swirling blue eyes down to the thing in his hands. It was a wooden quarterstaff, painted green and red in equally distant areas.

"So," Spike said, spinning the staff masterfully in his hands. "We're going to work on aim and precision with this. I'm going to hold the staff over my body and you will have to hit it, only if it's green. If it's red you have to pause. I will also hit you with it. If a green end comes at you, you have to block it. If a red, then you dodge. Got it?"

This is stupid.

I nodded.

The staff flipped and there was a bright green spot over his left shoulder. I dove in with a jab of my fist and immediately was rewarded with a biting pain in my knuckles.

"You don't have to kill the bad wood," Spike mocked. "Just touch it."

I didn't even look at him as the staff spun again, but my jaw was clenched firmly in determination. A green spot flew up around his knee. I kicked there. A green spot appeared over his stomach. I punched. Green was near his side. I kneed his side. Then green on his upper chest. Then green on his stomach again—

Green changed to red but my knuckles still graced the wood and the bottom of the staff flipped up red and smacked me across the back. I grimaced, my back tingling with pain.

"Again."

We shuffled on the mat, turning and cornering. Green appeared near his shoulder and I kicked high. Then down again at his knee. Then red but I couldn't stop. The staff slapped my thigh, smarting and stinging.

"Come on, focus. This isn't all aggression. It's precision. Concentrate."

"Shut up and let me." I hissed as I swung for a flash of green. I dove for another and kicked a red. A red angry welt appeared on my other thigh. I grimaced again.

This went on for several hours, although the amount of red ridges over my body seemed to have decreased from the first part of the practice. Maybe I was being hopeful.

I leaned down on my knees, sweat dripping from the sides of my head, my breath coming in ragged pants. Spike walked in circles around me, spinning the staff as he went.

"You need speed, lots more speed. I think the power might be there— well, I hope the power's there or else the world will be a very dark place filled with useless, bombed Slayers."

I glared at him up through a run of sweat.

"And your style," he continued. "It's a style, but . . . well, it's a sad style and obviously not very affective."

The wooden end of the staff flicked under my chin, bringing my burning eyes into his face.

"Where's that fire that comes with a Slayer?" Spike asked, his angled head turning to the side. "Gotta be in there somewhere."

"Yah it is." I snarled and shoved the staff away, then I stood up. "Keep treating me like scum on your fucking shoe and you'll see it."

He smiled, the expression borderline a grimace. "Lucky for you, the feeling's oh-so-mutual. But, not to worry, these fuzzy feelings won't keep either of us from killing the other. Right?"

I scowled at him and Spike simply returned to spinning his staff. "So, tomorrow, I'm seeing some sort of obstacle course."

Again, a glare was launched in his direction. Come to think of it, that's kind of the only way I looked at Spike.

"Clear up here and go off to your girlie-mates and complain about the Big Bad. Be back here tomorrow, happy and ready for a beating." Spike waved me off and I grabbed my clothes.

"I want a new set of clothes," I said firmly before I left. Spike shrugged, whether he would do it or not, unclear. Anger whipped against all the red welts on my skin. "And just so you know, there's nothing to complain about."

And I slammed the door after me.

It was about midnight before my growling stomach made me stand up from my spot on the outside stone wall, burn out my cigarette and travel down to the main foyer. The kitchen door was thankfully unlocked and a dark cafeteria-like room waited in moonlight. Tables were pushed up against the walls and plastic chairs were stacked along the window. Out of the dark glass, the back lawn was seen and Willow's smoking tent was barely visible. Over to my right a large refrigerator was seen through a large square hole in the wall. I crawled through and glared into the light from the open refrigerator. Several large pizza boxes sat in stacks while there were other things like cheese and meat and pineapple and something brown and furry, but all I saw was the pizza. It was cold, but that was the best kind. I found sausage and onion and with a sigh of content, I started to chow down on a large piece. While chewing and smacking, I crawled back onto the ledge of the square hole. The grin plastered to my face slowly melted away as I looked at the empty, ghost-like cafeteria.

Was this my life now? Getting my ass kicked by a constantly pissed off vampire and eating cold pizza without another soul insight? This shouldn't be bugging me; I had gone through months of lonely nights in Manhattan, but even then, I knew something would always be there. But now . . . I had never really used to the word 'abandoned' because it make me think of some hot desert with no water and dead bones cracking under your feet as you walked, yet as I sat alone in a building filled with people, the word passed through my mind. I accepted it momentarily before roughly shoving it out on its way; fat lot of good it would do to feel sorry for myself now.

A full pizza gone, I chunked the box into the nearest trashcan and headed back to my room.

True to his word— however worthless that may be— Spike had set up an obstacle course the next day. Yet, surprisingly, he had also brought me a new set of clothes. These had a navy blue top, grey loose sweatpants and white nikes. See how much good we can do if you all just listen to me?

The three stations consisted of kicking a dummy in five critical places, dodging tennis balls thrown at me by a low powered shooter, and then walking across the wooden bar across the side of the room . . . on my hands.

"I know you have the balance of a dohdoh bird, but just do it." Spike said after I adamantly shook my head. "Trust your instincts and your gifts as a Slayer. They may surprise you."

"Says the man who highly doubts any abilities I've ever had."

"Well, yeah." Spike shrugged. I glared at him but he threw it off with a nod of his head to the bar. "No more stalling. Get up there."

Frowning at the bar more than the vampire, my sweaty hands grabbed onto the wooden bar and pushed down. My feet went up and my arms started to shake.

"Stop doing it slow," Spike said behind me. "Just throw your weight up there. And spread out your hands so you're more balanced."

"Spike," I hissed, as I spread my hands farther apart as my feet went over my head. "Shut up."

And then I was there. All the blood was rushing to my head as my legs were bent above me. A drop of sweat fell down from my forehead and splattered on the ground.

He was silent. I didn't care; he was going to ruin my moment of feeling like a ninja. "Now walk to the other side."

"What?" My head whipped down. He looked kinda funny upside down: all black then just suddenly BLONDE. "I can barely hold my balance like this, much less hold my balance and move."

"The whole rule thing kind of went out the window with you, din' it?"

"Goodie, you're learning."

Spike rolled his eyes. "God, I never remember any of the potentials ever being this bitchy."

"Lucky for you, or you might have snapped sooner."

"Just walk."

Lowering my head back to the bar, I reached forward with my left hand. I didn't fall. Urged on by my brief success, I brought my other hand forward—

—slipped and twirled to the ground. My butt smarted.

"Least you made one hand," Spike smirked, standing with his arms crossed.

"Shut up." I pulled myself onto my feet and walked over to the next station.

"Oh, no," Spike said. "Cartwheel."

"What?"

"The idea, see, is from you to get from point A on the bar to point B on the other side, from there you land and cartwheel to the next spot."

"What the hell is that suppose to do for me?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, it was originally suppose to be a back hand spring, but I can see now that's just wishful thinking."

I scowled and did a sloppy cartwheel. He was glaring at me with dissatisfaction as I came up to stand.

"Wishful thinking and all . . ." I grinned, then turned to kick the dummy.

Sometime later, he let me go and I left. The next morning I got up before Ericka had and left. Willow taught us how to recognize a quarts crystal from a greshier, which is a small hard plant that resembles a stone. And that afternoon Spike made me do the obstacle course again. I was finding unpleasant bruises in the shapes of a tennis balls all over my body for hours.

The day following Tremaine gave me a packet on Zapargoth demons, which apparently can only be killed by drowning and Spike taught me how to roll properly. That ended in a possibly sprained wrist.

And then the day after that, Willow showed us how to use certain sand-like leaves to heal small injuries, which would have been nice when Spike decided it was the day for a "sad" attempt at hand to hand combat.

The "yay" to my week ended with a brief training session about stakes. Not the food kind, which I was desperately craving, but a short wooden stick-type thing. Apparently, vampires can only be killed that way, or by beheading, or sunlight, but as a Slayer this is the most effective way.

"Stab and go on," Spike said as he showed me exactly where the heart is on a dummy and stabbed it violently with the stake. I took the wooden thing and spun it a little, before giving Spike a threatening glare. He didn't even flinch.

The next day Tremaine made me tell the class why a Pathrol demon can read minds. I didn't know. Spike tried to make me break a cinder block. It finally shattered when I threw it at the wall, aiming for his head but he ducked. Rat bastard.

The days were blurring together. I knew it. Days were becoming weeks without any of my control over them. True winter had clamped down on the Slayer institute and one day I found a large black parka on my bed with a note saying, "You're going to need it".

The leaves on the trees had finally crunched away into oblivion, leaving bare, naked branches and cold dead grass. Almost always now the sky looked dark and damp and thick, an unbreakable shell around the world. Then some morning, I awoke to find the first snow of the winter season had littered the outside grounds. Some girls were already outside playing around in the white wonder, making snow angels or snowball fighting, all laughing and giggling until a few went inside for some delicious hot chocolate waiting somewhere. The only time my feet hit the snow was late night, when mostly everyone was asleep and I went out onto the stone wall and smoked.

You'd think after a weeks of the nonstop torture chamber that was training with Spike, I'd have broken into a million pieces. Oddly, no. Slayer constitution I suppose, but even before I found out what I was, I always healed fast. I'd always liked to believe that I had a good strong punch and moved quickly, even without the Slayer inside. So, when it all came down to who's who, was it my fault or the Slayer's fault that I simply couldn't grasp Slayer training?

After a while I think it became a favorite pastime of Spike's to point out the many mistakes in my form, my lack of power or skill. I think he stayed up at night thinking up just the right phrases with the equal amount of sarcasm and hurt to needle their way into my chest and implant themselves in my brain so they'd spin around in my mind for days afterwards. Either that, or he was a smug, arrogant British pig. Either one was very plausible. It was probably both. Never once did he mention improvement so for all I knew, I very well might have been getting worse, the bruises proving nothing.

I walked alone to and from classes. I ate alone. I slept alone. My only "human" contact was with the undead vampire as he kicked me to the ground, either with his words or very, very literally. I brought this upon myself I suppose, just like I had in Manhattan and there was no way to change it, even if I did want to. My life had become one great blur, every day and every night ending the exact same way.

It was not until a dark Sunday night, when a great winter storm was brewing outside, with winds sharp and icy and whirling gusts of jagged slices of snow, did something in my life change.

I slept restlessly, the cotton sheets and comforter twisting beneath me. Outside the winds howled and gnarled tree branches scraped at the brick walls. Sweat poured from my forehead, drenching my clothes and the bed. My nails grated against my skin, bringing fine wells of blood to the surface and yet, the most of my turmoil came from my dreams.

My mother's victor had just dropped her body, wiped his mouth clean of her blood and walked down the street. I lay in the alley, eleven and struck with horror and anger, tears pouring down my face. But the dream didn't end there. Suddenly furious in a way I had never been before, I stood up and wiped the tears from my face. Then, I tore down the alleyway, following the murder. I turned the corner and ended up—

—on a subway train. The car was completely empty except for two people, but they were fighting. One was a tall black woman, with a short afro and a smooth, long, black leather duster. The man she was fighting was a fairly accurate impersonation of Billy Idol.

He wore torn jeans, a pierced black sleeveless jacket, and had hair that stuck up about an inch into the air. Though a fairly well built young man, he moved fast and quick and struck the woman hard with his black boots. But neither his appearance nor fighting skills were the most deranged thing about him: the wannabe was pouring with life. Maybe it was the neon lights reflecting off his alabaster skin, but he seemed to glow, energy and excitement whipping around him in an invisible wind. He taunted the woman with it, he kicked the woman with it and when she threw him through a window, he screamed out into the black night with vivid animation. This man loved exactly what he was doing and that was stirring up violence.

And then, the woman grabbed one of his wrists and flung him sideways, switching their spots and for the first time, I got a decent glance of his face. My mouth fell open in surprise.

It was Spike, thick black eyeliner rubbed around his eyes and a look of unstoppable determination on his face. The pair hopped back and forth, daring the other one to strike first. This was a pause and Spike simply couldn't handle that. He whipped to the side and broke down a metal pole. He swung his new weapon victoriously and she dodged.

The woman kicked the metal pole away and came at the vampire again, striking him fully in the face, breaking the flow of swirling life as Spike fell to the ground. Wasting no time, the woman leapt and, as Spike twisted beneath her, she pinned down his arms across his chest and began to whirl his head around with furious punches. Through gritted teeth, he hissed something almost indiscernible and it was a moment before the sounds suddenly made sense in my head.

"Slayer," he growled and tried to wiggle away from the onslaught of punches.

So this was another memory, another Slayer vision that Tremaine had mentioned. With a violent twist in my stomach, I realized this Slayer, someone like me, was doomed. Ericka had said he killed two Slayers, and this girl must have been one of them. I gazed upon that dark beautiful face, alight with passion and power, and felt horribly sad: she looked only a couple of years older than myself and these were her last few moments on Earth, full-filling her sacred duty only to die some horrible death.

Suddenly the lights in the subway car flickered black yet through the gloom I could still see her fists making wild marks on Spike's white face. Then there was a soft gasp and the sound of a scuffle and when the lights came back on Spike was sitting atop the woman. At that, he paused, his horrid blue eyes standing out like the glow from a jack o' lantern as they stared down, his prey finally grasped between his hands. One lay gently by his side as the other held the woman by the throat. The Slayer barely struggled now, thrusting and moving only occasionally. Her large brown eyes were transfixed by Death staring her right in the face. Then, with the movement of a lover's gentle caress, Spike placed one hand on the back of the Slayer's head, the other below her jaw and twisted. A crack, louder than the rumbling car around us, shattered my ears and made me cringe, though I never looked away.

Spike sighed, the battle over far too soon, and slid up from his throne, his energy pulsating and gluttonous and smooth as black silk, as he stood and yanked the wire up near the ceiling. The train spluttered to a stop and Spike stumbled a bit, drunk on adrenaline. He then bent down and pulled the leather duster from the lifeless corpse that was once the protector of mankind. Fluffing the collar, he smirked and stood again. The doors whooshed open and Spike disappeared into the crowd filling onto the train, long gone before a woman saw the dead body and screamed. People swarmed around me and suddenly the grey business suits swirled into a streak of a single cloud and then I smelled smoke.

I turned and flames and screams filled the air. I was inside a burning building, Chinese or Japanese by the looks of the statues and tapestries. Not much could be seen passed the billowing puffs of smoke that poured from the open windows but down on the dirt streets, the city was coming down in ruins. People and animals were running as buildings crashed into burning heaps. Chaos was literally tangible and yet, the two other people in the room besides me didn't seem to notice the havoc around them.

One was a pretty Asian girl, her hair pulled back in a long black braid and wielding a short Samurai sword that glinted and struck like silver poison. The man she was fighting had on some cotton overalls over some short leather boots, but padded, different from the normal type of leather boots. They both wore clothes that I've only ever seen in textbooks. With an unhappy twinge in my gut, I realized this was another time, and another country, most likely another continent. And with another twinge, this must be the other Slayer. The other Slayer that Spike killed.

Which, as I watched the pair dance across the dirt floor, was very surprising. Spike moved slower, his punches less direct but filled with the same passion for violence as I had seen on the train. His hair also wasn't classified as a U.F.O; only a light bronze and pulled back in a knot at the base of his neck. Maybe he was like Sampson, and all of his power lay in the blinding neon hair, because this Slayer was making quick work of him, even slicing open part of his eyebrow with one sharp flick of her blade. And yet, he managed somehow to kick away that sword. They rolled and ended up near a window, her foot positioned strategically against his throat and an ancient-looking stake held high in her hands. Spike froze, looking Death in the eyes, and then there was an explosion outside, knocking them both to the ground. The Slayer rolled, leaned for the stake, her arm bent at an odd angle and—

— Spike appeared from behind her, snatched up her free arm, swung until he was directly behind her and sunk his fangs deep into her neck. She gasped as her life drained away and poured into him. The stake fell promptly to the ground as Spike jerked, tearing away at her flesh to bring more hot blood into his mouth. After one more victorious slurp, Spike yanked the dying girl away from him, making her conqueror the last thing she'd ever see. She muttered something, to which Spike growled, "Sorry, love, I don't speak Chinese."

Then the Slayer fell to the ground and Spike stared, blood oozing down the side of his mouth until he wiped it off with a sly twist of his finger. He moaned softly at the taste of Slayer blood before the fire rose up around me, swallowing me like a black hole, and churning and sifting, the sands of dreamland blew away on a harsh wind and I sat up in bed, gasping and wet. Though I was fully awake, a nasty thought whispered in through the crack between reality and sleep.

Did a vampire kill my mother?