No matter how hard Buffy stared at the gravestone, the writing refused to go away. The words insisted on bitch-slapping her in the face.
No Toto, we are definitely not in Kansas anymore.
Buffy didn't bother to respond. She mechanically ran her finger over the smooth granite plaque bearing her name and apparent date of death; despite the fact she felt very much alive and really, really not dead.
Her initial plan to locate her friends shrivelled up. She had a slightly more worrying problem sitting in front of her - in the form of a slab of weathered marble.
A ghost of a feeling crept inside Buffy. It was a sensation of someone walking over her grave. She shivered.
Maybe it was just cold air.
Got any useful explanations? Buffy demanded. I'm kinda freaking out here.
Hang on, came the reply.
Buffy sucked in deep, agitated breaths, her grasp on calm slipping fast. Hurry up.
Don't you dare start hyperventilating on me. It's not like you haven't died before.
A long, awkward pause followed the Inner Slayer's statement.
Maybe that was a bit harsh, it admitted.
Glad you agree.
Yeah, sorry. Anyway, best guess is that we're Vamp Willow.
Huh? What?
Vamp Willow.
Buffy backed away from her gravestone and settled down on a wooden bench. She didn't think she'd do so well with activities involving her legs. They tottered about as though controlled by strings. All her nerve endings were being very unsupportive at the moment.
Fighting vampires, dealing with possessed eggs, magical beer, saving the world; she tackled these things on a regular basis.
The shock at seeing her own grave entered a new level of freakiness. The whole problem compounded itself by the fact she could feel a body in the dirt, nestled in the wooden confines of a coffin. Dead things gave an almost unnoticeable pull since only the husk of who they were remained. They were an imprint, frozen in the universe like a snapshot from a camera. With a little concentration, Buffy could touch them at the edge of her consciousness.
She knew a body lay under the grave. Her body.
The Inner Slayer sighed. Remember what I said about the not-hyperventilating?
Buffy stopped chewing the inside of her cheek. Kinda hard not to. She took deep, forced breaths, tying to maintain a pretence of unruffled steel. So. Will vamp. Splainy?
Remember the way vamp Willow ended up in our dimension? Figure we're experiencing the same thing, in reverse.
Maybe, Buffy reflected. She recalled the image of her best friend, Willow, decked out in leather. Quite an interesting experience.
She tasted the idea the Inner Slayer presented her with before cradling her head in her hands and grimacing at the tang of pain zapping her shoulder. Drying streaks of blood stained the left side of her blue denim jacket.
Or maybe not. I'm just going crazy. I'm having conversations with myself, that's crazy enough.
Denial, the Inner Slayer sang. Like the river.
What? Buffy stopped anxiously running her nails through her hair. What is that even supposed to mean?
Dunno. Thought it sounded good.
Buffy huffed annoyance. I'm not in denial.
A small alarm went off in Buffy's head. She instinctively reached out with her Slayer senses to locate the threat. She fumbled, a little rusty at first. She never exactly topped the Slayer class for detecting vampires. Usually she went fashion police on them. The more carbon dated an outfit looked, the more likely they were in fact, a bloodsucking fiend. It worked most of the time.
Scents crashed into her nose like a truck: dirt, decay, rancid blood. All of them familiar acrid tangs of the undead. Panic slithered as more and more corpse-like odours soured the atmosphere. Seven, eight, nine -
She stopped counting.
They can smell your wound.
Buffy sighed, glum. How many are there? It's like they're crawling out of the woodwork or something.
Three vampires rapidly closed in from the south, blurs under the moonless night. Buffy's Slayer senses went haywire. She couldn't see the others, but they were close.
She bolted from the bench like a hare, running as fast as she possibly could. Wind slapped into her face, gouged cold lines across her skin, and whistled with vindictive malice into her open wound. Her breath became faster and hissing. She clamped a hand over the injury to plug it, making her gait more lopsided. Running with an injury tended to suck. Standing in the open for a bunch of vampires eager to suck her neck sucked even more. Vampires meant suckfests in general.
Which made sense, given said obvious implications of being one.
Adrenaline charged her muscles as she swerved down the abandoned streets. She glanced furtively to the shadows, survival instincts concerned with what hid amongst them. In her world, many things went bump in the night. It came free with living on a Hellmouth.
She picked corners at random, pacing down the asphalt with rugged determination. She had no idea where she was. Nothing looked familiar. She only ran. At least eleven vampires gave chase now, and she scented even more closing the net around her. She was the fly in a web of vicious spiders. Her pulse beat erratically. Her breath wheezed in anger. A low growl rumbled in the back of her throat. The feral, predatory part of her wanted to turn and face them.
Already her brain mapped and catalogued the surroundings, selecting places to hide, weapons to utilise, odds of victory. It drew out a silent combat plan designed to take down as many enemies as possible with the least risk to self. She could trick them. Smear blood on the walls. Hide in the shadows, wraith-like and silent in expectation. Try and take them all down, one by one.
Buffy gritted her teeth, pushing back the impulses. Ever since she'd landed in the cemetery, her Slayer urges came on way stronger than usual. The urges frisked like a trapped animal, waiting to be released. Back at the cemetery she'd decimated the demons, riding on the innate thrill and euphoria of the fight.
Now it frightened her.
Her shoes consistently thudded the pavement, tendons throbbing in protest. She bit hard enough into her lip to draw blood.
Normally she could run for ages if necessary. However, the fact she'd gone from pounding in Adam's face to pounding in six other demon's faces, combined with a stab wound that hurt like a bitch, along with other things that hurt like a bitch... it was small wonder her limbs had difficulty keeping up.
She decided she really could do with a break from the whole Slayer gig; preferably beginning from now. The Powers That Be didn't seem content to let her rest. Her stamina deteriorated into dangerously low levels. The vampires weren't getting any further away. Her breaths became ragged gasps. Beads of sweat slid from her forehead. Her feet dragged and ached. She recognised the next area she pounded into with a tiny flutter of hope in her breast.
You're heading to Giles' house?
Buffy slipped down an alleyway, strands of hair flapping damply from sweat.
Now we're in the neighbourhood? Yeah.
Remember about the alternate dimension stuff? We don't know what's the what. Don't know if Giles is even around.
Buffy scowled. She hadn't even considered that. Hoping you're totally wrong.
Honestly? Let's hope I'm right. This many demons isn't a good sign.
A vampire charged her from the other end of the narrow alley. Without missing a beat she threw her stake. He took the stake with him as he disintegrated into dust, surprise burnt into the brief outline of his features. Her body lost balance as she twisted sharply around the corner, causing her to slip and fall. The impact dazed her. She saw a few more vampires enter the dark alleyway out of the corner of her eye, faces distorted in triumph. Their prey lay ripe for the picking. They could smell the exhaustion. They could smell the blood.
Bile rose up in her throat.
Try not to die here. It would be terribly inconvenient.
Buffy agreed with the voice wholeheartedly. She reached for another stake and with a determined grunt, flipped back onto her feet. "Oh yeah," she squeaked. "That hurt." She growled in irritation when detecting more vampires rushing into the fray, making her feel like a unwrapped sweet placed in the middle of an ant nest. She gripped her stake hard. "I thought I did a way better job with pest control than this. Guess I was wrong."
A new voice cut suddenly into the darkness. "Close your eyes!"
A small grey ball bounced in front of her. Buffy stared at it. "Huh?"
The grey ball exploded. Bright, blinding light seared her eyeballs, converting her vision to a multicolour blur of spots. She instantly flinched, palms slamming into her face. The colours shifted into blackness. Inhuman shrieks and screams grated her ears. The heavy drag and pull in the atmosphere from the presence of so many vampires lifted, drifting away to infect the air with the faint musk of ash.
Her Slayer senses tentatively touched around, seeking any more threats. A dull absence greeted her. Apparently, the bright dazzling flare from the ball contained the same potency as sunlight.
Impressive.
She did, however, catch the presence of a human. She'd barely even realised it was there with all the vampires congregating down on her. A scent of wool, car leather and mint came to her. The scent draped around as the human tentatively touched her. The human made soothing noises. Buffy lowered her hands, panicking when she still couldn't see, vision tainted by impenetrable blackness.
"I told you to close your eyes, dear." The voice was female and very, very British, rapping out in brisk contralto. "You'll have to come with me. It's not safe... as I'm sure you found out for yourself."
"What... what just happened?"
"Sun bomb. I always have a couple of the blighters for emergencies. Your vision will be fine after a few minutes. If you'll just hold onto me - that's it, well done dear - lets get you out. You're certainly looking a bit worse for wear." Fingertips gently traced around Buffy's sore. The woman clucked her tongue. "That's a nasty little wound. How long ago did this happen?"
"Uh, maybe half an hour ago? Not exactly tracking time," Buffy replied, puzzled by the woman's overbearing helpfulness.
The fingers squeezed briefly. "Really now?"
Be careful!
Alarm bells played up. "I uh, heal fast?"
Sun bombs were not something used in the Sunnydale Buffy knew. She decided to tread with caution.
"Uh huh." The woman didn't sound very convinced. "You'd better come with me, dear. That wound's not going to fix itself."
Buffy's vision crept back bit by bit. She progressed from empty, inky blackness to discerning shapes and outlines. One of a car loomed in view. The woman guiding her held out a key and pressed it. The car unlocked with a little click.
"Steering wheel on the right? Seriously?" Buffy groaned.
The woman chuckled. "I'll take that to mean your sight is coming back with a vengeance. I'm just going to open the passenger seat door now. Let's get you somewhere safer."
"What's your name?" Buffy asked as she settled down on the seat, still unsure what to make of the situation. The chamois-car leather smell was now stronger, which made sense, given they were in the woman's vehicle. Buffy wasn't convinced that being led to a car of a stranger was a good idea, even if said stranger had saved her from an army of vampires. But she didn't resist. Something about the voice reminded her of Giles.
Probably the British thing.
"Oh! Silly me." The woman mimed slapping herself. "I've yet to introduce myself. Voirrey Saunders, at your service. May I ask for yours?"
"Buffy Summers," Buffy said.
The Inner Slayer mentally facepalmed itself. Oh my god.
What?
You have the name of a dead person. Well done!
The blonde Slayer flushed, cursing her slip up.
Voirrey inhaled sharply as she strapped Buffy securely into the upholstered seat. "Is that so?" she murmured. "Unusual name."
"Uh, yeah. Isn't it? I think my mother secretly hated me," Buffy babbled, nervous. "What were you doing all the way out here, anyway?"
Outlines and silhouettes regained back their various levels of shadow and grey hues under the night. Buffy finally found herself able to get a good look at Voirrey. Wrinkles pursed up around the older woman's lips and brow. Her coppery eyes examined Buffy in interest before she turned the key in the ignition. The car sputtered into life, groaning and creaking in protest.
A thought occurred to Buffy. "Actually. How did you find me when I was being chased by vamps?"
The car accelerated into a smooth thirty mile gait. "I was in the neighbourhood, and saw you in trouble. Just as well, eh?" Voirrey said blithely.
Buffy squinted at the woman's LED radio display. "At three thirty in the morning? Pretty nice of you."
Voirrey's knuckles tensed and whitened on the steering wheel, obviously realising the mistake. Buffy raised an eyebrow, taking time out to absorb the appearance of her new companion. The amber bob cut seemed oddly stylish, short but neat, refining the thin frame of her face. She donned sophisticated clothing, the sort worn to a high-class restaurant. She obviously liked the colour blue. Her face housed lines used to smiling.
Council? Buffy pondered, tracing the woman's various items of jewellery. She looks rich.
Possibly. Poke at her a little more. She probably doesn't intend to harm us. With the whole rescuing and all.
"Hey, I know you helped out," Buffy continued, taking advantage of the silence, "And that's great, so um, thanks. Kinda finding it hard to believe you just happened to be cruising through here, though. So if you'll like to tell me what's going on, please do. If you're not kidnapping me." Buffy panicked. "You're not kidnapping me right?"
"Are you a Slayer?" Voirrey blurted, her knuckles still bone tight.
Buffy considered. "Yes."
The older woman locked eyes. "And your name is really Buffy Summers? Buffy Anne Summers?"
"Yes," Buffy replied, a sinking feeling in her stomach.
"Hmm."
Buffy waited. Voirrey didn't follow up. "Hmm?"
A deep set wrinkle became more prominent on the left side of Voirrey's mouth. She regarded Buffy for a moment before speaking again. "Buffy Anne Summers," she announced, "I'll tell you why I'm here."
Buffy waited.
Voirrey eased the car through amber traffic lights. "I'm here because I received a phone call from LA earlier tonight. A lady called Cordelia Chase told me someone would be in trouble. Does that name ring a bell?"
Buffy nodded.
"Normally, I wouldn't be out alone like this, in such a dangerous area. But Cordelia emphasised the importance of saving the person in trouble, and with the rest of my team... preoccupied, I was the only one up to the task."
The car belched through a empty traffic junction. Voirrey rested one hand on her lap. "She was cryptic, saying you didn't come from here. There was I, thinking she meant maybe from another country…"
The sinking feeling in Buffy's stomach hit rock bottom, twitched and died. "This isn't happening." Buffy whispered. She looked at Voirrey, pleading. "Tell me it isn't."
"I'm afraid it is," Voirrey said, knowing what Buffy asked. "You're from another dimension. Or, depending on your point of view, you ended up in a different dimension. I say this quite affirmatively because Buffy Anne Summers died three years ago here fighting the Master; and now a Slayer called Buffy Anne Summers who appears absolutely identical to her is sitting in my car."
Buffy rubbed her cheeks with her palms, over and over. Voirrey not only had told her what she feared, she told it in the style of someone clutching a shotgun and firing both barrels at once. "What am I going to do then? I've... I've got friends. We - we were fighting, and I don't know if they're okay, I don't know if they're alive -"
"Don't worry about that now. There's no point."
"No!" Buffy's response was shrill. "Don't tell me to not worry about it. This is a big deal. I have to get back, don't you understand? I have to…"
"Well you can't," Voirrey said. "At least not now."
Buffy looked up. Sympathy and apology shaded Voirrey's eyes. Somehow it calmed her down. Voirrey turned back to focus on the road. "It's not in my plans to keep you prisoner."
Well, that's a relief. Not. "Could you help take me back?"
The older woman's mouth thinned. "We'll try. It won't be easy. But I promise you we'll try at least."
Buffy sighed. That was all she was getting and she knew it.She wanted to push the woman further, but fought down the desire. If everything held true - if she really, one hundred percent, no doubts whatsoever was stuck in an alternate dimension - the last thing she needed was to risk estrangement with the one (and possibly only) person promising to help her.
Silence encompassed them for a few hundred yards.
"What happened in... your dimension?" Voirrey asked, a curious expression on her face. "You must have beaten the Master."
Another pause.
"Yeah," Buffy replied. "He killed me, but I got back up again."
Voirrey frowned. "You just... got back up?"
"Well. Xander revived me. I guess he um, didn't here?"
"He was too late. You were gone for good."
"Oh." Buffy imagined Xander running through the dirty tunnels, desperate to intercept her before she went against the Master. Xander coming across her body. Xander frantically trying to revive her but failing. Perhaps if he'd just been a few seconds faster...
Buffy touched her wound, flinching from the pain. "Poor Xander."
"They were all devastated," Voirrey said. "They're still around. Xander... Willow, Rupert. They'd love to see you."
"I'm sure." Buffy curved her lips a little upwards.
"There's something you should know as well. I'm the current Watcher to the Slayer. Your friends, or at least this Buffy's friends, all assist here. It's unexpected, but their contribution has been invaluable."
The statement left Buffy with another kernel of hope. Perhaps Voirrey wouldn't be the only one wanting to help. The thought of all of the scoobies running around as vampires had crossed her mind at one point. "Oh. They're all still hanging? Giles and the gang?"
"They are," Voirrey conceded. "I'm very grateful to them."
"Nice." So the gang were all alive. That only left the other big question. "And the Slayer? Who is she?"
Voirrey smiled. "Faith Lehane."