Chapter One: The Quickening
New York City
Four Months later
(Or, May, 2003, for those who can't do the math)
Cassie Cattalano had been receiving regular e-mails from Dawn Summers since the day Willow Rosenberg had taken her near-apocalyptic turn in the dark side. She read excited notes about her training with her sister, Vampire Slayer-in-residence of Sunnydale, CA; of the return of Spike, new soul in place and driving him insane; of Giles' return, with a small, growing army of potential Slayers in tow; of the First, which had finally arrived to make a nuisance of itself.
Now, after almost a year of constant messages, Cassie was looking at a Dawn-free window on her computer. She wasn't a Slayer, a vampire, or a mystical Key poured into human form; but she had her intuition, its home deep in her gut, and it was telling her something big was going down, probably right at that moment, and she couldn't even offer support long-distance, let alone physical, tangible help.
"Cassie?"
She let out a little yelp, ready to swing a left hook, stopping when she realized it was her brother. "Yeah, Marco?"
Marco Cattalano, like his sister, was blond and blue-eyed, but while hers held a glimmer of innocence (despite her knowledge of human and supernatural evils), he had a jewel hardness to them, like he'd seen too much of the world to not become jaded by it. However, despite the edge, he looked like the world had amused him greatly by some cosmic joke.
"You look like someone ran over your own personal stray."
Cassie winced. "Nice image, Marco. Could've done without."
"Cassie, what is it this time? Distraught isn't a good look for you."
She gestured helplessly at the computer screen. "There's been nothing from Sunnydale for the last week. Dawn's been practically devout in keeping me updated since last May; now there's nothing." I will not panic, I will not panic, she thought, breathing deeply, slowly, to the cadence of the words.
Marco saw the look in her eyes just before she closed them and began breathing. She was scared enough to be bordering on panic, but not for herself; for their friends in California. It had been two years since Buffy Summers had died for the second time. Marco had been attending UC Sunnydale when Willow, his friend and classmate, resurrected Buffy, ripping her from eternal peace in the process. Cassie had visited Sunnydale midway through the semester to meet the whole Scooby Gang and strike up a friendship with Spike, the neutered vampire reluctantly helping in the good fight.
After Willow's descent into dark magic, Dawn had begun communicating with Cassie, and occasionally Marco, to vent or update on events on the Hellmouth. (Or one of them; according to Rupert Giles, there was another portal to Hell in Cleveland, of all places. To which Marco had replied, "We always knew that Cleveland was there for something, just never knew what until now.")
Marco now gently squeezed Cassie's shoulders. "Open your eyes," he ordered quietly, waiting until she did so. "You know these Summers folk are survivors. So is the rest of the bunch; they won't go easily and they'll take anyone foolish enough to be near with them. All your worrying will just make you sick, and that's the last thing the clinic needs." He handed her purse to her and almost lifted her bodily from the chair. "Come on," he prodded, "it's late, and it's been hours since you last ate."
Cassie allowed a little rueful smile to curl her mouth. "Careful, Marco. Keep talking that that, people will mistake you for Doogie Howser."
He lightly tapped her on the back of her skull for the crack, secretly glad she'd recovered enough to taunt him. "Love you, too, sis."
Ten days later, Cassie slipped into the tiny, almost-soundproofed room, regarding the small figure on the bed. Nine-year-old Melissa Franklin was tall and slender for one her age, with shiny chocolate-colored hair and hazel eyes.
Melissa had been plagued by intense nightmares the past week in which she'd been chased by monsters with yellow eyes and fangs. Cassie had immediately come to the conclusion that Melissa's monsters were vampires, but she'd also wondered why Melissa would dream about creatures she'd never seen except in movies (which, in her opinion, were completely wrong and Anne Rice didn't know what she was talking about, with the one exception currently paying penance for his sins in Los Angeles).
Cassie now looked at the girl as she slept on, looking peaceful. She almost hated to wake her, but Cassie had promised Melissa's parents that their daughter would get her homework done and spelling words memorized. She knelt by the bed and stroked Melissa's hair, smiling as she let out a sleepy groan. "Mel, sweetie, time to wake up," Cassie called softly.
Melissa slowly blinked her eyes open, a smile on her little mouth. "I dreamed again, Cassie."
"Yeah?" With a combination of adult concern and girlfriend eagerness, Cassie sat on the bed facing the younger girl. "Tell me?"
"Well, it started out like the others, with the monsters chasing me. But then someone fought them, turned them into dust an' everything."
Yup, vampires. "Who fought the monsters? Your dad?"
Melissa shook her head, a wicked smile lighting up her face. "Nope. I love my dad, but this guy was a hottie."
"Mel!" Cassie exclaimed in a mock-scandalized tone.
Melissa giggled, clapping a hand over her mouth.
"Well, if it wasn't your dad, who was he?" Cassie pressed, curious now.
Melissa's smile went quickly from wicked to dreamy. "I think he was an angel."
"Really?"
"Mm-hmm. He was kinda glowy, an' he was English."
"What does being English have to do with it?"
Melissa shrugged. "I dunno, but he chased the other monsters away and talked to me."
"What did he say?"
"He said I was a very special little girl, and soon, I'd know just how special I am." She tilted her head to one side, confusion in her eyes. "I wish I knew what he meant."
Yeah, me too. "Well, what did this 'hottie' look like? Details, hon!"
Melissa rolled her eyes up, thinking back to the dream. "Well, he was tall. Taller than you, but not so tall as Dad. Maybe by a few inches?"
Okay, just under six feet.
"And he had these really nice, deep-blue eyes. But his hair was weird, like when Jake dunked his head in a bucket of bleach? His hair was almost white for a month."
White-blond hair, blue eyes…wait a minute! "Was he wearing a long black coat? Leather maybe?"
Melissa frowned in thought, then shook her head, chocolate locks bobbing around her head. "No, but he wasn't wearing white, either, like the pictures I've seen. He was wearing gray, I think."
Cassie smiled, trying to ward off the sudden sadness, knowing it was silly to harbor such a hope. Only two days before had she finally gotten word from Dawn and Buffy, somewhere in Europe. She had allowed herself only a day to mourn his passing, hoping he didn't receive the fate of other vampires.
Melissa's brows furrowed. "Are you okay, Cassie?"
The older woman shook her head to clear it and plastered on a brighter smile. "Sure, sweetie, why?"
"You looked sad before."
Cassie waved the concern away. "It's nothing, just…" She sighed. "When you described your angel, it sounded like someone I knew. He never went anywhere without a long black leather coat."
"Did he die?"
Melissa's soft words struck Cassie to the heart. The shine of tears gave the younger girl all the answer she needed. She laid a small hand on Cassie's cheek. "I'm sorry, Cassie."
Cassie smiled, patting Melissa's hand. "It's okay, Mel. The one thing I have to remember is that he died helping others. Helping the woman he loved." She squeezed the hand and gave it a little tug. "Come on. I promised your folks you'd get your homework done before they got home."
Melissa groaned. "Spelling words are such a pain."
"I know, but you don't want to look like an idiot next year when you're doing book reports."
Cassie stretched as she wrapped her wet body in a thick towel. Her parents had gone out to dinner, Marco to an appointment with one of his female friends (who, he claimed, was practice for his psychiatry rotation), leaving her alone in the family's Brooklyn apartment with a DVD and a pint of chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream.
As she strode into the living room, robe pulled about her body, she suddenly got the feeling she wasn't alone. "Mom? Dad? Marco?"
No answer.
Nervous now, she grabbed the Louisville Slugger, hefting it like a sword. She'd faced down vampires in her own building and on the California Hellmouth. If this turned out to be a run-of-the-mill burglar, she'd be very disappointed.
"All right, I know someone's here!" she called out defiantly. "Come out where I can see you, then get out before I call NYPD on your ass!"
Again, no answer.
"Okay then. I have very alert neighbors; I scream, you'll still have the cops on your ass." She took in a big lungful, ready to let rip the loudest, longest scream she could muster.
A strong, slim body tackled her from behind, a hand covering her mouth, her shriek muffled. Quickly reversing her hold, Cassie slammed the bat on her attacker's hip, legs, anywhere she could reach, struggling the entire time.
"Cassie, pet, easy! It's okay, it's me."
She froze at the cockney-accented baritone as he spoke in her ear. The last time she'd heard that voice was over a year ago. And, according to friends, the owner of that voice was supposed to be dead. No, it's impossible!
The arms gently squeezed her body, almost like an embrace. "Now, 'm gonna let y' go, luv. Promise y' won't scream?"
Having little choice in the matter, she nodded.
Slowly, the arms slackened and the hand gently moved from her mouth, almost caressing it. As the "attacker" stepped away, Cassie turned to face him.
The hair was still a shocking white-blond, tousled into curls from their scuffle. The left eyebrow, once trisected by a scar at the corner, only showed a thin line of tissue; the cheekbones were still razor sharp. The deep blue eyes regarded her with amusement and affection at her dumbfounded expression.
His name sounded on a breath of air from her lips. "Spike?"
His lips twitched in a little smile. "'Lo, Cassie. I'm back."
The bat fell from her nerveless fingers. She distantly remembered having a similar reaction to facing and killing her first vampire. When his presence finally penetrated the fog around her brain, she let out a whoop and slammed into him, staggering him back a few steps. He returned her enthusiastic hug, chuckling silently. "Glad t' see you, too, luv."
She drew back, then grabbed the front of his dove-gray T-shirt to shake him. "Where have you been, you jerk! Dawn and Buffy told me you died closing the Hellmouth."
Spike closed his hands around her fists to still her. "Cassie, if you'll hang on a sec—" He stopped when everything in her went completely still, even as she stared at his hands.
It hadn't registered before she knew who he was; Spike was no longer room-temperature, but warm. She freed one hand, disentangling it from his shirt, and pressed her fingers to the inside of his wrist. No pulse… but he's as warm as a human.
He smiled ever-so-gently as he saw the confusion in her eyes.
"How?" she murmured, almost to herself, meeting his gaze.
"Somethin' started happenin' t' me when I fell in love with Buffy," he began. "They—" he rolled his eyes up at the ceiling to emphasize "—deemed me worthy t' be somethin' other than demon, more 'n human still."
She blinked. "Spike, you show up, not dead, not room-temperature, and no heartbeat. You're gonna hafta walk me through this."
He gently squeezed the fist still in his hand, then released it and stepped back. "You're lookin' at the Light's newest guardian angel."
Cassie let out an excited squeal before covering her mouth and embarrassing herself further. "So, the demon got a shot at being a real good guy." She grinned as he nodded, grateful that she was getting it. "But if you're the demon—former demon—where's the soul part of you?"
Spike had the piece of mind to look abashed. "Well, actually, I don't know."
"You don't know? The demon and the soul have—had—been residing in the same body for—what—the better part of a year and you don't know what happened to your roommate? How can you not know?"
"I just don't, okay?" He ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even further. "Look, since Sunnyhell got shut down, they've been keepin' the demon and soul separate. I guess to keep the soul from influencin' my decision. They gave me a choice: go on to where I c'n be happy, maybe get some rest; or come back 'ere an' keep doin' what I was doin' before I bit the big one, for the good fight."
She gave him a wry little smile. "When I was out there in California, Buffy told me you like this world. What was it you said? 'Man United' and 'Leicester bloody Square'?"
He chuckled. "She still knows me well. How's she been? They've made sure that I've been out of loop on current events down here."
"She and the others have been traveling Europe the last few days, since Sunnydale went under, gathering all the Slayers. They're all okay."
"Good."
She reminded herself to tell him about Anya later. "Spike, why are you here, now? I mean, why come to me?"
"'Cause, not only am I a guardian, I'm acting as a teacher as well. There are two Potentials that're now Slayers here in New York. They've asked me to act as Watcher."
"Hey, hang on. I think we both know what happened the last time two Slayers shared a Watcher: one turned evil."
"Well, we're still in luck, considering that one of them is only nine, and you know her. I came to ask you to help me with her."
Cassie's eyes widened as all the pieces finally fell into place in her mind. The nightmares about vampires, the angel in gray, the sudden amount of strength she'd come into possession of; it can't be! "Melissa? Melissa's a Slayer?"
Marco looked up at one of the lions in front of the New York City Public Library and smiled. "You know these things are mythically supposed to roar when a virgin has walked by?"
His friend smiled. "Yes, and they've never roared."
He shrugged. "Just means they don't work. I've been walking by here for years."
She looked at him, her face lit up with a grin. "How sweet."
He chuckled. "Sweet? You do remember who I am, right? Marco? Annoying, Roman Catholic fascist? Thinks that the old Polish guy in the funny white robes over in Vatican City might be right about one or two things? I can't say what I think for fear of being beat up because I walk through the Village half the time."
She punched his shoulder and he flinched, smarting. "Come on, you big wuss, you killed a mugger before my eyes like he was a vampire, nailed him through the heart. I think you can take care of yourself."
"I know." He ignored the pain. For some reason, whenever she did that for the past few weeks, she's left bruises the size of his hand, spread eagled.
Amanda Colt had been his friend through most crises than she knew about, the vampire plague of Red Hook, two semesters in Sunny Hell where he talked with her by email, and had been his best friend since they first met in the fencing club, and she had wiped the floor with him for a while before he had gotten on a mildly even keel with her. After the first month of practicing, all of their duels had been draws; the fighting had been so aggressive that no one, not even the coach, had even suspected that they'd been letting each other win, mainly because they didn't. Both of them had wiped the floor with the fencing master, twice, and they had never been able to beat each other, and they were both competitive enough to try on multiple levels—they both got the 4.0, the Marshall Scholarship, and the Fulbright Scholarship was up for evaluation, as well as a Rhodes, and they were both able to wipe the floor with each other in the realm of hand-to-hand combat, which Marco had taken an extra care to help her with since his return from California. Odds are, they would both be in Europe this time next year for the Fulbright.
Amanda—her family was from Pennsylvania, and possibly related to the Samuel Colt of gunmaking fame—had a lovely, lazy grace about her catlike walk, and her deep brown eyes and red hair had always attracted him to her. Unfortunately, little things like a boyfriend, followed by a murder, then vampires, and a year and a half either in Sunnydale or picking up the pieces with Willow in England had made any follow up almost impossible.
"But still, skill is no replacement against a dozen femi-nazis who think I'm a proto fascist because I carry a rosary."
"It's not my fault you carry that around your neck, which, last time I checked, it against the religion."
"Yeah, well, in California, you could say that I came across a…Santeria cult. They didn't like the idea of crosses, so I carried this for ready access." He shrugged. "Be prepared, that's the Boy Scout's marching song…"
"Don't go into Tom Lehrer."
"What, you mean I can't do 'Poisoning Pigeons in the Park'?"
She laughed. "Don't make me hurt you."
"Never dream of it…but what would you use? I mean, what have we trained with?" he asked.
"Swords, arrows, hands, anything medieval you could get your hands on. What is that about you and old weaponry? Expecting to fight a crusade?"
"Yes, against the forces of darkness….the National Organization of Women."
She narrowed her eyes. "What have you got against feminists?"
"Nothing, I am one. I'm against the 'abortion on demand' lobby. Come on, you know the stats better than I do—most women who go through it suffer from depression and post traumatic stress syndrome. I could never recommend it to anyone in good faith as a doctor…not unless I felt like I needed her medical bills for the rest of her life. Hell, any doctor who suggests it should be fired for malpractice."
She sighed. "En garde!"
Marco back pivoted as she shot forward with a right cross. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him, shooting out his foot to trip her. She actually leapt over the sweeping kick and landed on her feet, and then flipped him over her hip. He landed flat on his back and rolled off his shoulders, going heels over head onto his feet.
"Where did you get the leg hopping trick?"
"It just came naturally, I guess."
"Not bad. I like it. Again?"
She came at him. He blocked her punch, and she grabbed him and flipped him over her shoulder. He landed on his feet and spun, chopping down on her from above. She spun and blocked it, as well as his chop at her hip. He stepped forward with a left jab for her face. She grabbed him and pulled him forward.
Neither one of them was quite sure what happened next, most of all not who had kissed whom first. No one knew whose idea it was, but they were both certain that it was mutual.
After five minutes, they broke apart. They looked at each other, and after a moment, Marco smiled. "Well, that was fun."
Amanda's eyes glittered. "Yes, it was. I've been waiting to do that for the past six months."
"You could've done it sooner."
"Oh? How much sooner?"
"After I got off the plane from California would have been nice."
She frowned playfully and took a swing at him. It was lucky for him that he anticipated the swing, because when her fist touched the stone pedestal of the library lions, the stone cracked.
Amanda slowly pulled her hand back, and wondered why it wasn't broken in three places.
Marco looked at her, arched his eyebrows and said, "Amanda, darling, I think I need to make an international phone call."
"Why?"
"Well, you ever read literature about vampire slayers?"
She nodded. "When you were rooting through the occult shops in the Village."
"I think you're one of them. It's a long story, but if you can trust me long enough to get you home, I think it'll make sense."
She raised a brow, smiled, and walked over to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "My place or yours?"
He cocked his head. "I just told you that I think you're a Vampire Slayer, and you don't think I'm nuts. What am I missing?"
"Marco, I've always thought you were nuts, but that hasn't stopped me yet, has it?"
"Um…"
She kissed him again.
Five minutes later, she said, "What happened while you were in Sunnydale?'
"I was nearly eaten by two different super vampires, an indestructible demon who might have been piloting a plane on 9-11, and I was involved in a fight to the death that required blowing up my dorm room. I'll tell you on the way home. I've gotten allergic to nights."
"I can imagine."
"By the way, why did you ask about Sunnyhell?"
She grinned and patted his forearm. "Is that a stake up your sleeve or do you just have an odd anatomy?"
Marco and Amanda strode into his family's apartment to see Cassie in the living room, in T-shirt and cutoff jeans. She jumped to her feet when she saw who it was. "Marco—"
"Cassie, you remember Amanda?"
Cassie nodded, glancing at the redhead. "Hi, Amanda." She turned back to her brother. "Listen—"
"Amanda's a Slayer," Marco interrupted again. "You still have those occult books from a few years ago?"
"Y' won't need 'em," a familiar voice interrupted. "And 's nice t' know you're still as pushy as ever, Marco."
Marco narrowed his eyes at the figure leaning negligently in the kitchen doorway. "Tall, pale and peroxide, what the Hellmouth are you doing here? More importantly, how, and how long do we have to keep you?"
Cassie screwed her eyes shut in chagrin. "That's one thing I was trying to tell you." She opened her eyes and regarded them. "The other is: Amanda's not the only Slayer in our corner of the world."
An hour later, the three humans and one angel sat in the living room, sipping coffee and hot chocolate, Marco's face sporting that strange little smile that always reminded Cassie of the one memorable line from Scaramouche: "He was born with the gift of laughter, and a sense that the world was mad."
"Damn. You know, having St. Michael recruit you of all beings is a real blow to every philosophy class I've ever taken."
"But doesn't it reassure y' that, if the Almighty c'n forgive a lowly demon, there's hope for you?" Spike snarked, his trademark smirk playing across his face.
"Given what the Powers that Be tried to pull out in California lately, I don't think it's the Almighty so much as its someone who likes playing God."
"Hey! Please, no philosophical or theological debates," Cassie sniped at both males, while Amanda bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. "Not tonight. We just found out there are two Slayers and a Watcher-slash-guardian angel in the same neighborhood on the same freaking day!" She took a calming sip of her coffee, gone lukewarm long ago. "Amanda, I know we've given you the Slayer spiel, and you seem okay with it—"
"I'll be even better if I get him in close quarters," Amanda said playfully, staring at Spike. The former vampire gave her a genuinely flattered little smile, but he was largely unaffected.
"Don't smile so broadly, Spike," Marco informed him. "We used to go round and round before she became stronger than a locomotive, and we broke even. Considering that I did the same with Buffy, it means Amanda could probably swipe the floor with her and you…maybe at the same time."
Cassie chose to ignore the combative little interaction. "What I'm worried about is what I'll say to Melissa. It's bad enough she's having vamp-mares and sudden surges of strength; telling her she's one of the Chosen will only add to her fears. Plus the fact that she's only seen a vampire in her dreams—" her gaze slid to the only unnatural blonde in the room "—on top of which, the 'angel' who saves her in one of said dreams suddenly invades her reality to teach her about her new Chosen status. I'm sorry, but that's too much to put on the shoulders of a nine-year-old, especially all at once."
"Cassie, despite what you've just said, Melissa's a tough kid," Marco countered. "I saw her face down a bully on the playground this past week. He also had a baseball bat."
"She didn't try t' fight, did she?" Spike asked. "She may have the strength now, but she still needs the trainin'."
"Not exactly. She threw the bat away and that was that; while she told me later she felt a sudden surge of confidence, I found the bat in several pieces. I thought the wood was simply crappy."
"That had to've been Red's spell kickin' in," Spike mused aloud. He regarded Cassie thoughtfully. "How would Melissa react t' meetin' a newbee at the clinic?"
Unable to help herself, Cassie felt a grin split her lips. "Funny, you never struck me as the 'Roma Downey' type."
"True," Marco said. "She's lovely, pretty and Irish, you're the opposite on all three counts, and being British is a bad enough start for you."
Amanda nodded. "Not to mention the bad dye job. Where did you get it from, Pamela Anderson's medicine cabinet?"
Spike narrowed his eyes. "You really are his girl, aren't you? I can see the resemblance."
Marco's eyes went cold. "If that's so, think about getting on both our bad sides."
"Exactly," Amanda agreed. "He's killed a major vampire, one high profile demon and at least one mugger that he's told me about."
Cassie's eyes widened. "What mugger?"
Marco cursed himself for not telling Amanda not to mention that little detail around his sister. "Some guy jumped us during the vampire havoc when your Mick arrived in town. I thought he might be a vampire, so when he pulled a gun, I drew faster with the stake."
Cassie had to bite down on her temper to keep from screaming at him. She'd known he'd always kept secrets, but this… "Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.
"I didn't think that you wanted to hear that I drove a stake into his heart and enjoyed every moment of it."
It was then that Cassie saw what Marco was protecting her from, the hidden predator in his nature. She saw what she had chosen not to see in the first place, because she hadn't wanted to think it possible or probable of her brother, the young man who had wanted to be a doctor for as long as either of them could remember.
Spike saw the sudden shift in dynamic between the two siblings, and tried to defuse the heightened tension. "Oi, now, no time t' be braggin', Marco." He turned to Cassie, gently squeezing her hand and leaning close to whisper in her ear. "Cassie, pet, break down once Amanda's well away. I'll answer any questions I can, okay?"
Cassie mutely nodded, putting her hand on top of his.
"Don't blame me," Marco added, trying to break the mood with a fight. "Amanda blew my cover."
Cassie looked at Amanda. "And you don't have a problem with this?"
The redheaded Slayer cocked her head. "He had a gun and was about to use it. Do you think honestly think that he should be whining and crying over it? Now, next topic, are we done for the night?"
Spike looked at her, and was about to reply, when he stopped and stared, really looking at her. "Wait a bit, might you be Irish in any way?"
"I would be. Why do you ask?"
"It's just…you remind me of someone Cassie and I know." He hesitated and shrugged. "Must be the hair."
"Well, if you're interested, my family's from the Connamara region of Ireland, not Ulster. Otherwise, my family would have raised me to kill you the moment you opened your mouth for being a Limey. Feel better?"
Spike opened his mouth, and Marco glared at him. The younger Cattalano had figured it out a moment after Spike did, and he didn't want Spike to say anything. Cassie noted what Marco had hidden, as he let his internal self be reflected in his eyes—which, at the moment, made his eyes as cold as artic seas and as menacing as a mushroom cloud. This is what he had hid from her—not the murder, but part of his very self, the part that could kill mercilessly anyone who had hurt his people.
Amanda watched the exchange and smacked Marco's arm. "Cut it out. Now what the hell is going on?"
Marco sighed and looked at her, his eyes merely tired now. "You resemble a thousand-year-old Irish Slayer-turned-vampire that I had to kill. In fact, except for the eyes, you look just like her."
Cassie sniffed, the terror almost completely pushed aside. "You're kidding, right? Nuala was the ugliest vampire I've ever seen."
Spike nodded. "Ditto. And we killed her, not you alone."
"No, you weren't in the hospital room. Buffy was, and helped Doyle with the cleanup. You also didn't see her human face, which was as beautiful as her vampire face was ugly. One knife severed her spine, another in her heart, and a garrote dipped in holy water finished the job with her head…" He looked at Amanda. "She was a Slayer about a thousand years ago, which means she might have been old enough to have given birth. Oddly enough, there might be a possibility that you're a relative." He shrugged. "It's a theory." He looked at his watch. "It's also damned late, so how about we at least get everyone to bed?"
Everyone heard the apartment door creak open, their heads popping up. Dr. Roberto and Deirdre Cattalano walked in, stopping short at the people in their living room.
"Hi, Mom, Dad," Cassie greeted brightly. "Have a good time?"
"Perfectly nice, thank you," Roberto replied, still staring at their guests.
"Dad, Mom, you remember Amanda," Marco started.
Amanda smiled, lifting a hand in greeting. "Hi."
Cassie began to introduce Spike. "And he's—"
"Jus' leavin', actually," the vamp-turned-angel interrupted. "We'll talk t'morrow, pet," he whispered in her ear, then raised his voice. "'Night, all. Doc, Missus, nice t' meet you." And he was gone.
Deirdre shook her head. "Strange young man."
Marco shrugged. "Don't look at me, he's Cassie's friend."
Cassie glared at her brother with annoyance.
"Okay, then. Good night."
The three of the younger generation bid them good night. After a moment of thick silence, Amanda quietly asked, "They don't know, do they?"
"No," Cassie admitted.
"And I think we'd all be better off if they didn't," Marco added.
"Before a few years ago, the only monsters we'd ever encountered were in the movies and TV," Cassie explained. "We're not sure how they'd react if they found out vampires and other nasties existed." She shook her head and changed the subject. "Amanda, if you want, I can set up the spare cot in my room, and if you don't mind light rock."
Amanda smiled. "Thanks, Cassie, but I don't think so. I'd like to sleep in my bed tonight."
"I'll see if I can contact Giles, maybe Willow," Marco put in. "Maybe they'll have some pointers on training a pair of newbie Slayers."
"Giles and Willow?"
Cassie smiled. "I'll let him tell you." And she went off to her own bedroom.
Cassie noted later, much later (just as she was going to sleep and saw his eyes again in her mind), that she was very grateful no one she knew and cared about would oppose him.