Chapter Two
"Buffy!" Dawn cried out.
Her sister spun around. "What?"
Dawn stepped out from behind the clothes rack, holding up a very short plaid cotton skirt. "This is adorable! What do you think?"
Buffy breathed in deeply, trying to calm the pounding of her heart. She supposed it would take years for her to stop jumping every time Dawn screamed or cried out about something - even if it was for joy.
Eyeing the skirt doubtfully, Buffy shook her head. "It's awful and you're too old to wear something like that."
Looking affronted, Dawn deliberately tucked the skirt under her arm. "We'll see about that."
Buffy chuckled and pulled out a lovely long sleeved, black turtleneck. It would be great, she thought, for those long walks on the beach on cool November nights.
"What're you buying that for? Looks like something you'd wear to a funeral," Dawn said.
Buffy ran her hands over the sweater. "It's really soft and cozy," she murmured.
"You're going to roast in it," Dawn said with certainty. She pulled out a silk t shirt from another rack. "If you're going to wear black, try this, it's nice and slinky."
Buffy shook her head and took the warm sweater, rubbing her cheek against the soft cashmere. "Nope, I want this one." She looked over at Dawn, her heart tightening. How, after all these years, was she going to let her go? "Dawn, let's pay for these and go grab an ice cream."
Dawn's face immediately brightened, her blue eyes wide with childish delight. Even though she was a woman grown, even though she'd seen things that could curdle milk, Dawn had managed to somehow retain a certain childish innocence. Buffy would have liked to have taken some credit for that, for having protected her and sheltered her as best as she could. But she suspected it had more to do with Dawn's supernatural nature than Buffy's mothering skills.
The two hurried to the cash, paid for their purchases and then headed for the boardwalk. The hot sun beat down on their sunkissed shoulders and the breeze blowing off the Atlantic tossed their hair. Men of all ages, young and old, paused and smiled in appreciation as the two young women strolled passed them with their shopping bags and their air of quiet self confidence.
Buffy stopped at an ice cream parlor and stepped up to the window. "Dawn, what kind do you want?"
"Bubble gum!"
Buffy grimaced at the attendant. "You heard her. One large bubblegum and a large double chocolate almond for me." She leaned against the clapboard sided wall of the ice cream shop as she waited and she watched her sister. Dawn had managed to collect a retinue of attentive young men as she stood on the boardwalk. She was laughing and talking, carefree and full of joy. It was so seldom that Buffy saw her like that. Back in Sunnydale Dawn had vacillated between childish innocence and stupidity, adult fear and intensity. Now, as a grown woman in her early twenties, she was a professional, a studious and attentive researcher. But when they took this time out to visit the beach house, something of Dawn's youth and innocence resurfaced and Buffy could just enjoy it.
She didn't want to ruin it, but she knew she was going to. Dawn thought they were heading west the next morning.
She needed to know she was going alone.
"Here you go ma'mm," the young man said, handing her the ice cream cones. She paid, trying not to grimace when he called her ma'mm. She headed back to her sister and gave Dawn her ice cream cone. Sending the young men a pointed glance, Buffy gestured to a bench.
"Let's sit here for a while," she said.
Dawn nodded, busy licking her ice cream and they sat on the bench and stared out at the sea. She chattered nonsensically about everything but demons, vampire nests and battle plans and Buffy just let her go, let the lovely music of her sister's conversation and the background noise spill over her.
Finally, she twisted on the bench and faced her. "Dawn, we need to talk," she said softly.
Dawn froze, her gaze wide and uncomprehending. "What?"
"I – I'm not going back to L.A tomorrow with you," Buffy said.
Dawn shook her head, the hand holding her ice cream slowly lowering, suddenly forgotten. "What are you talking about? Our flight leaves tomorrow morning!"
Buffy shook her head. "No, your flight leaves tomorrow. I'm staying here, I'm moving here. I'm going to stay in the beach house. Dawn, I'm not returning to L.A."
Dawn angrily threw the ice cream cone to the ground. "Why? Why are you doing this to me?"
Buffy sighed. Some things never, ever changed, no matter how much older they were. "I'm not doing this to you Dawn, for once I'm doing this for me."
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Please, you are always doing things for yourself! You're the freaking slayer, every breath you take is for that!"
Buffy leaned forward. "Exactly!" she exclaimed. "Dawn, I don't want to do things for the slayer, or because I'm the slayer. I want to do them for me, because I'm Buffy."
Dawn scoffed. "But you are the slayer - what makes you think you have a separate identify from that?"
Her sister's eyes widened in hurt. "I do Dawn. I have dreams and needs and wants that have nothing to do with hunting down and killing demons. And quite frankly, I don't need to do that anymore. There are enough slayers out there to do it for me. For once, I want to live my life on my own terms."
"So what are you going to do?" Dawn said sarcastically. "Get a real job?"
Buffy sat back, offended. This wasn't going the way she'd expected. She'd expected Dawn would be hurt. But she should have anticipated her sister's anger. She'd miscalculated. "I'm actually going back to school and as part of my program, I have a co-op, so yeah I will be working and studying."
Dawn smirked. "Doing what? Flipping burgers? Are there any Double Meat Palaces around here looking for new slaves?"
Fed up, Buffy stood up. "I thought you'd understand. Guess I was wrong," she said. "Apparently you're still a selfish brat." With that last volley, she spun on her heels and left.
***
It was dark when Dawn returned to the beach house. Buffy staid in her room; she sat in the wingback by the open window, listening to the ocean, and writing in her journal. It was a practice she'd begun a few years back, after Spike was killed. She'd been so furious with him – pissed off that he'd been alive that whole time and never contacted her and then she'd been furious when he'd gone and gotten himself killed a second time.
It had been Giles who had told her to start a journal. One night they had gone out on a patrol and Buffy had barely made it out alive and wouldn't have, if it hadn't been for Kennedy. Afterwards, Giles had found her in a quiet corner of the cemetery weeping. He had taken her into his arms and let her cry and scream and beat his chest in a weak, futile, feminine way. And then they had talked honestly about her feelings and experiences with Spike. And Giles, with his infinite wisdom and those extra years, had suggested she start a journal.
So she had. And every night, in her journal, she wrote a letter to Spike. Sometimes she just talked about her day and her evening's activities, the hunts, the battles and the big and not so big bads. But most often she wrote about all the things she wished she'd said to him while she'd had him.
A soft knock on her bedroom door brought her back to the present. Buffy tucked the pen into the journal and set it on her lap.
"Come on in," she called out.
Dawn opened the door and peered sheepishly around it. "Hey, can I come in?"
Buffy nodded and Dawn slipped in. She had changed into her pajamas and washed her face. Nothing could hide the red and puffy eyes. She climbed into Buffy's bed, crossed her legs, and looked over at her sister.
"I'm sorry," she murmured.
"Thanks."
Dawn shook her head. "I just don't know what I'm going to do without you."
Buffy smiled gently. "You'll live your life, just like you do everyday. You'll go out with Josh and work with Willow and the council. You'll go to the Crypt on Friday nights and you'll argue with Xander and Andrew and you'll help Giles pick out his ties for those horrible meetings he insists on holding."
Dawn's eyes filled with tears. "But it won't be the same…"
Buffy stood up and went to her. She crawled into the bed beside her sister and pulled her into her arms. "Maybe not at first, but you'll get used to it." She sighed. "Dawn, I need to do this and I need you to be okay with it. Please."
"I'll try," Dawn whispered.
Buffy closed her eyes and pressed her lips against Dawn's hair. "Thank you."
"Can I stay here with you tonight?" Dawn asked.
"Sure."
They rearranged themselves on the bed and pulled the thin sheet and the antique patchwork quilt up to their chins. On top of the blankets rested their entwined hands.
"So really, what kind of job are you going to have anyway?"
Buffy laughed out loud at the disbelief in her sister's voice and then proceeded to lay out her future plans.
***
Their parting at the airport was blissfully short, but no less painful. Dawn was, as usual, running late and by the time they got to the airport there was barely time to hug and say goodbye before she had to race through security and get on the plane. Buffy held on to her tightly, filled with doubt and uncertainty. Once Dawn left, there would be no change of heart, no turning back. And she would be on her own to chart her own destiny and forge her own path.
She cried the entire way back to the beach house, angrily wiping the tears away, feeling stupid and frustrated for crying over something that had been of her own devising, her own decision. Back at the house, she walked around aimlessly, picking things up, setting them down, and then picking them back up again. Finally, she poured herself some wine and grabbing a paperback, she headed out to porch to enjoy the late afternoon sun.
Curling up on the porch swing, Buffy pushed against the floor with her toe, setting the swing in motion. As she opened her book and glanced down, she spotted something on the porch floor. She stopped the swing and bending over, peered under it.
"Ahh Dawn," she murmured as she saw the book her sister had been reading. Stretching, she reached for it, grasping with the tips of her fingers and dragging it towards her. With a heave, she pulled the book and herself back into the wildly swaying swing, almost knocking the glass of wine over. "Whoa!!!" she called out with a chuckle, steadying the swing with her foot.
Curiously, Buffy opened the book to the end of the chapter that Dawn had read to her. Surely there was no harm in continuing it. She'd been enjoying it and had planned on asking Dawn what happened after Morgan's first street battle had tested her mettle. Since Dawn had left it behind, then Buffy could read it before sending it back to her. That decided, Buffy settled back, snuggled into the cushion, sipped the wine, and started reading.
Twenty minutes later, heart pounding, she gasped out loud.
"No!" she said, shaking her head. "Stupid, stupid, stupid! It's a trap!" The main character, Morgan Carmichael was heading into a club after receiving a private invitation to the grand opening. Even though her brother Rhys, also a member of the Order of the Guardians, had told her not too, Morgan was determined.
Buffy got that. How often had she gone exactly where Giles or Xander or Angel for that matter had told her not to? But hindsight was twenty-twenty and she knew that Morgan was walking into a trap.
"Morgan wasn't familiar with the music that was pouring in deafening sonic waves from the speakers. The air seemed to shimmer with beams of light, dust, and sound. But that could also have been the pure energy that flowed through the crowd, linking them all together as they moved like puppets to the frantic rhythms. The air stank of sweat and beer and overpriced cocktails and fine perfumes. This was no run of the mill bar. This was U.S Prime beef market and the cattle were choosy and expensive.
She tried to cut through the crowd on the dance floor, seeing as it was the most direct route to the bar. The bartender would be able to give her information; they always did with the right incentive. She'd been watching Rhys and Roan convince bartenders to hand over information for the last several months. It was her turn to do some reconnaissance.
But the dancing crowd seemed determined to keep her from her destination. Their bodies pressed in and around her, moving to the rhythms like lovers, their hands sliding over lithe bodies grinding against each other.
And then she felt it.
Not the custom groping she'd almost anticipated in a hungry crowd.
But this, this was equally hungry. Equally invasive.
She felt someone watching her. Pausing for a moment in her quest for the bar, Morgan opened her senses and began peeling back the layers of distraction just the way Gwen had taught her. One by one. Tune out the bodies pressing in. Tune out the scents. Tune out the music. Tune out the vibrations, the voices, the demands. Tune out their thoughts until there was nothing but the void. In the void was the source of her disquiet.
She knew the presence was a he just as she knew that he wasn't human, but more than human.
She turned slowly to her right, her gaze stealing through the crowd, trying to fix on the hungry gaze that was slowly devouring her.
When she found him she felt his presence even more strongly. It was as if his eyes pierced through the darkness and flashing lights right through to her heart. In that moment, she could feel all the joy and all the desperation in the room and her heart pounded in her throat and she had to fight for her breath. She felt as if she were drowning in a pool of sweat and blood.
Blood.
She could smell it; a heavy metallic tang with an undertone of red wine and cigarette smoke. Not only could she smell it, but she could taste it. It was as if the air in the room had been filtered through it and the thumping music was nothing more than a giant heart, pounding and pulsing, pushing the blood through the air as if through veins. Linking them all.
He stared at her, this inhuman creature cloaked in darkness.
She was stunned by his otherworldly beauty. His pale skin seemed chiseled as if from stone; a sharp nose and slashing cheekbones, a jutting chin and full, sensual lips. His blue eyes gleamed with the heat of gas flames. His dark hair was pulled back, but a strand fell forward across his eyes. The boyish trait made him seem that much more malevolent.
Morgan knew in that instant what this creature's purpose was. It was as if he'd broadcasted it for the entire club to hear.
His sole purpose was to kill her.
And looking into his eyes, Morgan felt trapped."
Buffy shivered. She looked up, realizing that she was squinting to read the text. While she'd been reading, night had fallen. Perhaps that was what had her feeling so jumpy all of a sudden. She grabbed her empty glass and headed inside, locking the door behind her. Not wanting to put the book down, she quickly refilled the glass and then threw herself on the couch and continued reading.
"A body staggered into hers, pushing her and Morgan stumbled. Her connection to the dark creature was broken and when she straightened and looked back, he was gone.
"Fuck," she muttered, frantically looking around the club. Her desire to beat the bartender for information was gone. All she wanted now was to find out who that demon was. And he was a demon; that much she knew. She could smell the unholy scent of ash over the stench of sweat and spilled booze.
She pushed her way through the crowd towards where she'd last seen him. Once there, she opened her senses, desperately trying to find his imprint, any scent or sign of him that she could follow. There was nothing; which in itself was unusual. Usually demons left an imprint behind, a stamp that like a dog, she could follow and hunt down. But this, this demon had left no clues behind. Like an expert criminal, he had wiped his scene clean.
She peered through the darkness and spotted a door with an exit sign overhead. Wondering if he'd done the smart thing and left, she hurried towards it, fumbling in one pocket for her wooden stake and in the other pocket for her iron blade. Wooden stake if it was a vampire; iron blade for any other demon. With a weapon in each hand and her senses open and on full alert, Morgan opened the door and stepped out of the club and into the alley."
Buffy's breath caught and she shook her head. "No, no, no!" she muttered out loud. "It's a freaking trap!" Intellectually she knew that the author had to put his character into precarious situations, otherwise there would be no action, no tension and no suspense in the story! But still! A dark alley? Chasing an unknown demon with nothing but a stake and a blade? No backup? It was just plain stupid.
She fought back a grin. It was something she'd done a million times in the past decade or so! As a matter of fact, what Morgan was doing was very similar to what Buffy had done and as she was reading, she could almost anticipate what was going to happen. It was as if the writer had been there with her, countless times, on patrols. At the Bronze or later, at the Crypt. There was something eerily familiar about this scene in particular, but Buffy couldn't quite place it.
She flipped the page and continued reading.
"Morgan stepped into the dark alley. Lights from the street created pockets of shadows and towards the back there was nothing but inky, impenetrable darkness. She looked around and then, not seeing anything with her human eyes, she closed them and focused. Breathing in, she chanted softly, "Calling on light, calling on night. Calling on all angels within sight. Bathe this scene with your glorious might." Looking up, she opened her eyes and gasped in wonder. This ability, one of many that had been passed on to her through her trials, was still new enough to amaze her.
The alley was filled with a warm white glow. Every object, animate and inanimate, glowed like pearls. The light pulsed from the animate objects and shimmered from the inanimate ones.
He stepped from the back of the alley, the creature who had been watching her in the bar. He walked towards her, his long, black leather coat flowing behind him. She could see him more clearly now in the glimmering white light and she caught her breath. Gods, she thought to herself, he was beautiful! His aura, mixing with the white light, gleamed shades of purple and blue, like fire opals. It pulsed from him, spilling from him like waves, down his tall body and flowing across the filthy alley towards her.
"Morgan Carmichael," he said with a long, slow smile.
Straight, gorgeous, white teeth. Beautiful full lips and an odd accent. Not quite American, not quite British, a bit of Eastern Europe, and a splash of French. He sounded like he came from everywhere. Old, she thought. This creature, whatever he was, was ancient.
"Yes, I am ancient," he murmured, enjoying her start of surprise. "And I've been waiting for you."
She froze. This was the creature from her dreams, the demon whose hands reached out from the darkness, whose lips caressed her neck, whose teeth grazed her skin, this was the creature who haunted her nights.
"Yes, I am the creature of your dreams and your nightmares."
Finding her voice, she asked, "Who are you?"
He smiled. "You'll find out on Saturday," he murmured.
She shrugged off the hypnotic lull and she shook her head. She hated demons; and in that moment, she decided that she hated the cryptic, gorgeous ones even more.
"What happens on Saturday?" she asked sarcastically.
He stared at her, his lips parted in a slight, crooked smile.
"I will kill you," he replied. Then he turned and walked away.
Buffy froze, the book falling from her suddenly numb hands.
Now she knew why this scene in the book had seemed strangely familiar. It was more than the bar, more than the dark alley. It was even more than the handsome demon who seemed to be more than just your average run of the mill big bad.
It was what he'd said.
They were the exact same words Spike had said to her the first night they had met in the alley outside the Bronze.
She closed her eyes, remembering. It had been right before the parent teacher night at the high school. The Saturday Spike had referred to had been…. What had that damn holiday been? St Vicious? No, St Vigeous. The demons had been working themselves into a fury for three days, only to culminate in one destructive blast on St Vigeous, the night Spike had planned on killing her.
Buffy hadn't been too worried that he would succeed. Despite Angel's warnings, despite all of Giles' preparations, she'd really been more concerned about her mom and Principal Snyder crossing paths. But once the vampires had begun spilling into the school, things had changed. She grinned for a second, remembering Snyder yelling that the vamps were a gang of kids on PCP.
Spike had found her and they had fought. Right from the beginning he'd been arrogant and cocky. He'd fought fiercely and he'd fought to kill, exchanging verbal jabs along with his physical ones. But in the end, it had been her mother who'd brought him down with a blow to the head with an axe.
Buffy blinked back the tears; tears for her mother and for Spike, both of whom had been gone from her life for so long that the pain should have eased but never had.
She turned back to the book.
Coincidence? Could it be a coincidence that the author had used those exact words in a scene where an apparent demon meets up with a demon hunter? Could it be a coincidence that the whole feel of the scene was like something right from Buffy's own past?
She flipped to the back of the book jacket, looking for a photo of the author and his biography.
There was a grainy black and white photo of a man sitting at a desk in shadows. She could make out nothing of his features except a sharp, chiseled jaw line and a gleam of pale hair. His hands, resting on a desk, were long fingered and elegant.
She shook her head. Either he'd hired a horrible photographer because he'd been too cheap, or he'd ingeniously hired a brilliant art photographer and gone with the mysterious and artfully shadowed look.
She turned to the bio. It was short and sweet. "William P. Bennett lives on the east coast with his dog and a neurotic cat. Hold back the Dawn is his first novel and Book One of the Grigori Series."
Buffy's hands began to shake. As short as it was, the bio gave her one piece of important information. The author of this book shared something very, very important with Spike.
A name.
TBC