Charmed: Elizabeth Turner

by Brenna's Urbangirl Projects

Born with a sense of otherness, Elizabeth 'Buffy' Turner navigates her dual nature as a half-demon alongside her brother Cole, training rigorously to harness her powers while yearning for a life beyond servitude to the dark forces shaping their destiny.

4. Chapter 4: What's My Sleuthing Part 1

Chapter 4: What's My Sleuthing Part 1

November 24, 1997 – Monday

Sunnydale High

It was Sunnydale High's Career Fair, a bustling event that filled the school's lounge with an air of anticipation and uncertainty. Buffy sat alongside Xander, her expression crestfallen as she stared at her test form, the questions seeming more daunting than the vampires she faced at night. Banners adorned the walls, boldly announcing "Career Fair Starts Tomorrow," their vibrant colors clashing with the subdued mood of the students.

Across the room, the school guidance counselor sat behind a table, exuding an aura of wisdom as a sign proclaimed, "Vocational Aptitude Tests." Buffy raised her eyes wearily just as Willow entered, her enthusiasm for the test palpable as she grabbed a form and joined them.

"Are you a people person or do you prefer keeping your own company?" Xander intoned solemnly from his test, his brow furrowing in contemplation. "What if I'm a people person who keeps his own company by default?"

Buffy glanced back at her own test, her thoughts far from the multiple-choice questions before her. Her mind wandered to Cole and the silence that had enveloped their communication since he summoned her to San Francisco. Worry gnawed at her as she wondered about her brother's well-being.

"There is no box for none of the above. That would introduce too many variables into their mushroom-head, number-crunching little world," Xander grumbled, his frustration evident.

Willow shot Xander a sympathetic smile. "I'm sensing bitterness."

"It's just, these people can't tell from one multiple-choice test what we're supposed to do for the rest of our lives," Xander lamented. "It's ridiculous."

Willow's eyes widened with curiosity. "I'm kind of curious to find out what sort of career I could have."

"And suck all the spontaneity out of being young and stupid? I'd rather live in the dark," Xander retorted, his tone half-joking, half-serious.

"We won't be young forever," Willow gently reminded Xander, her voice carrying a hint of wistfulness.

"I'll always be stupid," Xander shot back with a self-deprecating grin. When met with silence, he couldn't help but add, "Okay, let's not all rush to disagree…"

Willow and Xander looked up as Cordelia's confident voice cut through the air. She approached their table with a test form in hand, her presence commanding attention as she was trailed by her usual entourage of Cordelia wannabes.

"'I aspire to help my fellow man,'" Cordelia read aloud, her tone confident and matter-of-fact. "Check." She paused to decisively mark her answer on the paper. Then, she tilted her head, a slight frown creasing her perfectly groomed brow. "I mean, as long as he's not, like, smelly or dirty or something gross," she clarified with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Ah, Cordelia Chase," Xander sighed, his voice tinged with both exasperation and amusement, "always ready to extend a helping hand to the rich and pretty."

Cordelia turned to face him, her expression cool and composed. "Which, lucky me, excludes you twice!" With that parting shot, she swept away, her group of Cordettes trailing behind in giggles and whispers.

Xander watched her retreat with a deadpan expression, then turned back to Willow. "Is murder always a crime?" he quipped, half-serious, his eyes betraying a hint of mischief.

"Buffy?" Willow's voice broke through Buffy's distracted thoughts, her concern evident in her tone.

Buffy looked up from her test, her gaze focusing on Willow and Xander. "Thinking about Cole," she admitted quietly, the weight of her brother's dilemma pressing on her.

"Your brother?" Xander interjected, his brow furrowing in concern.

Buffy nodded; her expression troubled. "He called me to San Francisco last week. He's torn between fulfilling his mission, which involves killing the Charmed Ones, or rejecting our heritage as half-demons and choosing his love for Phoebe."

Willow's eyes widened with concern as she processed Buffy's words. "That sounds... really intense, Buffy. Is he okay?"

Buffy sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I don't know. I haven't heard from him since. It's like he's disappeared off the face of the earth. I'm worried he's made a decision and can't face the consequences, or worse, that something's happened to him."

Xander frowned, his usual flippancy replaced by genuine concern. "That sounds rough. Can we help somehow? I mean, we can't just sit here filling out these stupid tests while you're dealing with all this."

Buffy offered a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, guys. Just knowing you're here helps a lot. Right now, I guess we just wait. I have to trust that Cole will find his way through this."

Willow reached out and squeezed Buffy's hand. "We're here for you, no matter what. And if Cole needs us, we'll figure it out together. We're stronger as a team, right?"

Xander nodded vigorously. "Yeah, we've faced worse things than this. Well, maybe not exactly like this, but you know what I mean. We'll get through it."

Buffy felt a glimmer of hope amidst her worry. Her friends' unwavering support reminded her that she wasn't alone in this. "Thanks, guys. Really. Now, let's just get through this Career Fair and hope it doesn't assign us all to jobs that involve wearing polyester uniforms."

Restfield Cemetery

That night, Buffy walked among the graves, every sense alert to potential danger. This would be the last stop on her patrol tonight, and she was tired, eager to get home to see if Cole had called. Dead leaves tumbled across the ground, scraping over headstones, riding a stiff wind. And yet suddenly there came a different sound—not the stealthy brewing of thunderclouds, but a closer, more distinct sound. Buffy stopped, listening. The sound came again—tink tink tink—and she frowned, trying to place it.

Her eyes wandered slowly over dark tombstones and shadows. And then she noticed something. The mausoleum stood slightly apart from the other graves, rising high above them in moldering splendor. Its crumbling façade and weathered statues gave it an eerie, almost regal presence among the more modest graves. Buffy gazed at it for a long time, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, then finally began moving toward it.

The sound was louder now. As she neared the front of the mausoleum, she could tell that the noise came from inside, and to her surprise, she saw that the solid iron door was standing open. An eerie glow of light flickered across the threshold, casting grotesque shadows on the walls. Buffy took a deep breath and peered in.

A torch was set in the ground, and it was this light that threw its macabre shadows over the gloomy, rotting interior of the tomb. The air was thick with the scent of decay and old stone. As Buffy watched, she could see a dark figure pressed close to the far wall, so absorbed in its work that it had no idea she was even there. It seemed to be intent on one of the vault doors, and as the lock finally broke, Buffy saw the thief open the vault and grab something from inside.

Quickly, she hurried out again, positioning herself at the bottom of the mausoleum steps, arms folded casually across her chest. As the figure emerged, Buffy's voice cut through the silence like a knife. "Does 'rest in peace' have no sanctity to you people?" she asked in mock surprise. "Oh, I forgot—you're not people."

The vampire froze where he stood, clutching the red velvet bag in one hand, his eyes narrowing as he prepared to defend himself. He didn't think Buffy had heard the second vampire sneaking up behind her. As an energy ball formed in one hand, the new creature lifted its claws and poised for attack.

Without warning, Buffy wheeled around, her movements a blur of practiced precision. She delivered a vicious, jumping kick that sent the ambusher crashing back. She grabbed him by the collar and drove his head into a nearby tree trunk with a sickening thud.

The vampire crumpled to the ground. Buffy quickly conjured an energy ball and hurled it at the dazed creature, watching with satisfaction as he exploded into a cloud of dust. "One down," she declared triumphantly, then spun back, ready to face the first vampire—only to find he had disappeared into the darkness.

Buffy gazed at the empty steps of the mausoleum; her brow furrowed in frustration. "One gone," she mumbled, bewildered and a bit annoyed that her quarry had slipped away.

She stood for several minutes, straining her ears through the night. The wind rustled through the trees, and the distant hoot of an owl echoed eerily in the stillness. Buffy's eyes scanned the graveyard, every muscle tensed, ready for the next move. When every instinct finally told her the danger had passed, she shimmered out heading for home.

Summers Home

Buffy shimmered onto the roof outside her bedroom and found Angel waiting for her. Despite her worry for Cole, her heart fluttered, sending warmth through her body, the way it always did when she was close to Angel—when she even thought about him.

Angel didn't see her at first as he moved restlessly among her things, back and forth through her bedroom, picking up one personal item after another, then setting each back down again. He'd never concerned himself much with material possessions; in his personal opinion, they were cumbersome when you lived for centuries. As he inspected the contents of the room, a whole new picture of Buffy began to emerge. Not just that of a Slayer, a Chosen One, a half-demon. But that of a vibrant woman, who had experienced a century of life.

The room was filled with mementos of her long and varied existence: old photographs, trinkets from different eras, books with worn spines, and other small treasures. Each item held a story, a piece of her history that Angel found himself piecing together with a mixture of awe and melancholy.

Gingerly, Angel reached out toward a shelf. He ran one finger down the side of a ceramic pig, fighting down a sudden ache in his throat. The room, with all its little details, told him more about Buffy than she ever could in words.

Buffy saw him hesitate, saw the muscle tighten in his cheek. The usually stoic vampire seemed out of place amid her personal relics. As she stepped through the window, the sound made Angel jump like he'd been shot. He spun toward her, and Buffy saw with amusement that he was holding her favorite keepsake.

"Buffy," Angel sighed in relief, his shoulders relaxing. "You scared me."

Buffy smiled, the sight of his surprise warming her even more. "Now you know what it feels like, stealth-guy," she teased, her eyes twinkling. "So. Just dropping by for some quality time with Mr. Gordo?"

Angel looked blank for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Excuse me?"

"The pig," Buffy clarified, pointing at the ceramic toy in his hand. "Cole got it for me not long after I turned 35 at the 1915 San Francisco World's Fair."

Angel looked down and realized he still had her ceramic toy. His eyes widened as he recalled the significance of the keepsake. "Oh, I, no—" Embarrassed, he quickly put it back on the shelf, his fingers lingering for a moment on the cool ceramic before he withdrew his hand.

"What's up?" Buffy asked casually, trying to break the tension.

"Nothing," Angel replied, but his eyes betrayed him.

Buffy tossed him a look, raising an eyebrow. "You don't have 'nothing' face. You have 'something' face. And you don't have to whisper. Joyce's in L.A. till Thursday. Art buying or something."

Angel looked slightly puzzled. "Then why'd you come in through the window?"

Buffy stared at him, then sheepishly glanced back at the window. "Oh. Uh, habit. So, what's up?"

The banter fell away, and Angel's face grew serious, shadows flickering across his features. "I wanted to make sure you were okay. I had a bad feeling."

"Oh, surprise," Buffy said curtly, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Angel comes with bad news." She could see him watching her in obvious bewilderment, and she read the hurt in his eyes. Her own expression softened, and she sighed. "Sorry," she said quietly. "I've been cranky miss all day. It's not you."

"What is it then?" Angel asked, his concern evident.

"I haven't heard from Cole in a week," Buffy admitted, her voice trembling slightly. "The last time he and I talked, he was facing a dilemma. Kill the Charmed Ones like the Triad and the Source wanted, or side with love, since he had fallen in love with Phoebe Halliwell."

Angel listened intently, stepping closer to her. "That's a pretty significant dilemma," he said softly. "And it's tearing you apart, isn't it?"

Buffy nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I'm worried about him, Angel. He's my brother, and I love him, but he's in so deep. And if he chooses love over his demonic heritage, he's putting himself at enormous risk. But if he follows the Source's orders, he's lost forever."

Angel reached out and gently took her hand, his touch comforting. "I understand," he said. "Family is complicated. But you have to believe that Cole will find his way. He's strong, like you."

Buffy squeezed his hand, drawing strength from his presence. "I hope so. I really do. But I can't help feeling helpless, just waiting for news."

Angel pulled her into an embrace, holding her tightly. "You're not alone in this, Buffy. We'll get through it together, no matter what happens."

She buried her face in his shoulder, finding solace in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "Thank you, Angel," she whispered. "For always being here."

"For you, always," he replied, his voice a soft promise. His eye caught a photograph taped to her mirror, one that was faded with time. "What is this?" he asked. He reached past her, plucking the photograph from the mirror's frame.

It was a younger Buffy, barely twenty-eight years old, figure skating and performing a perfect arabesque. The image captured a moment of grace and elegance, her lithe form perfectly poised on the ice.

Buffy's face softened as she took the photograph from him. "This was taken in 1908. Cole and I were in London, going after a witch the Source felt was a threat," she began, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "We tracked her to an ice rink. I was fascinated watching her glide across the ice, so free and beautiful."

She paused, a wistful smile playing on her lips as she continued. "So, I made her a deal. She would teach me how to skate, and in return, Cole and I would let her live. It was a small rebellion against the darkness we were steeped in. Those skating lessons were magical in their own right. For a few hours each day, I wasn't a demon. I was just a girl learning to skate, feeling the cold wind on my face and the thrill of mastering something new."

Angel studied the photograph, his fingers lightly brushing over the image of her younger self. "You look so happy," he murmured. "It's hard to imagine you in that kind of life, but seeing this... I get a glimpse of who you were back then."

Buffy nodded; her eyes distant as she reminisced. "It was a different time, a different world. For a brief moment, I could escape the constant battles and bloodshed. Cole even joined in sometimes, though he wasn't as graceful on the ice." She chuckled softly at the memory. "He'd slip and fall, and we'd both end up laughing. It was a rare time of peace for us."

"When was the last time you put on your skates?" he asked, with an odd gleam in his eyes and a half-smile playing on his face.

Buffy had to think, her brow furrowing as she searched her memories. "About ten years ago."

"There's a rink out past Route Seventeen," Angel said, taking a step closer to her. "It's closed on Tuesdays."

Buffy looked up at him, scarcely daring to hope. She returned his smile and took a step toward him, her heart beating faster. "Tomorrow's Tuesday," she said cautiously.

They were close enough to kiss now, the air between them charged with anticipation.

"I know," Angel said, his voice low and filled with promise. "This will distract you for a day. If by Wednesday you still haven't heard from your brother, I'll see what I can find out. I know an upper level demon or two who, despite their reluctance, owe me a favor or two. I could ask around and see if I can find out what's going on."

Buffy felt a surge of gratitude and affection. She reached out and touched his arm, the warmth of his skin grounding her. "Thank you, Angel," she said softly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Angel's eyes held hers, his expression serious and tender. "You don't have to thank me, Buffy. I'm here for you, always. Whatever it takes, we'll get through this together."

Buffy leaned into him, resting her head against his chest. For a moment, they simply stood there, holding each other, drawing strength from their closeness. The worries about Cole, the constant battles, and the weight of their responsibilities all seemed to fade into the background.

"I can't wait to see you on the ice," Angel murmured, his breath warm against her hair. "I bet you're still amazing."

November 25, 1997 – Tuesday

Sunnydale High

The next day, the outcomes of the aptitude tests had been posted.

As students milled about between classes, Xander and Cordelia stood in front of the large sign in the palm court, anxiously reading over the lists, searching for their names. The air was filled with a mix of excitement, nervous chatter, and the rustle of papers as students jostled to see their results.

"Here I am!" Cordelia announced triumphantly, her finger tracing down the list until it stopped. "Personal shopper or motivational speaker. Neato!"

"Motivational speaker?" Xander's look was mildly shocked, his eyebrows shooting up. "On what? 'Ten steps to a more annoying you'?"

"Oh," Cordelia threw back at him with a smirk. "And what about you? You're—"

Once again, she scanned the lists, her perfectly manicured finger gliding over the names. With a burst of laughter, she shook her head and moved off into the crowd, leaving Xander desperately staring at the sign, his eyes wide with confusion.

"What? What?" Xander said, his voice rising with frustration. He still couldn't see his name, his eyes darting over the paper in vain. Meanwhile, Buffy and Willow walked right past him, too deep in girl-talk to stop and help.

"You and Angel are going skating?" Willow said excitedly, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Alone?"

Buffy nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "Unless Cole shows up or something unforeseen happens."

"Angel, ice skating…" Willow said, her eyes wide with a mixture of astonishment and delight. The very image seemed like a fantastical dream.

"I know," Buffy agreed, her voice softening. "Two worlds collide."

"Not to change the topic," Willow said, her tone becoming more serious, "but you still haven't seen Cole?"

"No," Buffy said, a shadow of worry crossing her face. "Tonight is to distract me a little bit from worrying about my brother. Angel said if I hadn't heard anything by tomorrow, he knows a couple of upper-level demons who owe him a favor."

Willow nodded thoughtfully, her brow furrowing. "That's good. At least you have a plan. And in the meantime, you get to have some fun, right?"

Buffy smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, I hope so. It's been a while since I've done anything just for fun. Especially something as normal as skating."

"Normal," Willow repeated, with a wistful sigh. "It's kind of nice to think about, isn't it? You, out there on the ice, just enjoying yourself."

Buffy's smile grew a little more genuine. "It is nice. For one night, I can pretend I'm just like everyone else. Just me and Angel, gliding around the rink."

They turned as Xander caught up with them, his face a storm of emotions. One look at him told Buffy and Willow that something was seriously troubling their friend.

"Wouldn't you two say you know me about as well as anyone?" Xander demanded, his voice edged with frustration. "Maybe even better than I know myself?"

"What's this about?" Willow asked, her tone wary and curious.

"When you look at me, do you think prison guard?" Xander's words hung in the air, heavy with disbelief and indignation.

The two girls paused; their expressions thoughtful as they appraised him.

"Crossing guard, maybe," Buffy said at last, a small smile playing on her lips. "But prison guard?"

Xander's indignation grew. "They just put up the assignments for the Career Fair. And according to my test results, I can look forward to being gainfully employed in the growing field of corrections."

"At least you'll be on the right side of the bars," Buffy teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Laugh now, missy," Xander shot back, his tone half-serious. "They assigned you to the booth for Law Enforcement Professionals."

"Hmm, it would be a good cover for who I really am," Buffy mused, her eyes distant as she considered the possibility. "I'll think about that later. First, I have to deal with Giles. He's on this Tony Robbins hyper-efficiency kick. He wants me to check in with him now every day after homeroom."

Waving goodbye, she hurried off, her mind already shifting to the myriad responsibilities that awaited her.

Clio Cemetery

In the cemetery, under the somber veil of a funeral gathering, Belthazor lay wounded against a weathered headstone, his breaths labored with pain. With a grimace, he pushed himself up, staggering towards the relative safety of a looming mausoleum nearby. His movements left a stark trail of blood on the cold stone, a grim testament to his desperate escape.

Unseen to the mourners, a sinister figure materialized next to the stained headstone. Krell, a demon of formidable reputation, frowned as he wiped Belthazor's blood from the stone, his keen senses analyzing the traces left behind. He sniffed the crimson smear, his gaze darting around the cemetery until it settled on the closing door of the mausoleum.

Inside the dark confines of the mausoleum, Belthazor crouched, his back pressed against the chilled stone walls, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His hideout was short-lived as Krell's ominous voice sliced through the silence.

"You know what I am, Belthazor," Krell's voice echoed with a chilling certainty. "You know you can't escape from me now that you can't shimmer anymore. You'd be pleased, the bounty on you and your sister was determined by the Source himself. A reflection no doubt of your and Nyxara's triumphs and your and her betrayal. You're wounded, powerless, think of your legacy, Belthazor. Die as a legend, not a coward."

Fear fueled Belthazor's movements as he dashed towards the mausoleum's exit. Krell's dark form materialized in the doorway, his hand outstretched in a lethal gesture. A bolt of energy lanced out, narrowly missing Belthazor but striking a stone column instead, which collapsed with a deafening crash.

Outside, amidst the mourning guests, Cole emerged, his features shifting between the human guise of Cole Turner and the demonic form of Belthazor in rapid succession. His heart raced as he approached a woman who seemed oblivious to the supernatural turmoil around her.

"Mind if I hitch a ride?" Cole asked, his voice smooth despite the urgency beneath.

The woman glanced at him, her expression a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "Are you going to the wake?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Cole replied quickly, his gaze darting back towards the mausoleum where Krell emerged, his senses honed on their proximity.

"Come on," the woman gestured towards her car.

Sunnydale High

The books were just about to fall.

As Giles tried to set them down on the library table, the whole stack tilted precariously, threatening to topple over in a noisy cascade. Buffy, with her Slayer reflexes, darted forward and caught the stack just in time.

"Oh, Buffy," Giles said, his voice a mix of relief and gratitude. "Thank you." Together, they carefully eased the stack down safely, the danger of an avalanche averted. Giles, ever the diligent Watcher, resumed his task while continuing to talk. "I've been indexing the Watcher Diaries covering the past two centuries," he informed her, a touch of scholarly enthusiasm in his tone. "You'd be amazed at how pompous and long-winded some of these Watchers were."

Buffy couldn't help but hide a smile. "Color me stunned," she quipped, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Giles adjusted his glasses, looking at her with a mix of amusement and mild reprimand. "I trust last night's patrol was fruitful," he inquired, opening a notebook and preparing to jot down her report.

"Semi-fruitful," Buffy replied, leaning against the table. "I caught one of two vamps after they stole something from this jumbo mausoleum at the cemetery—"

"They were stealing?" Giles interrupted, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"Yep," Buffy confirmed. "They had tools and the whole nine yards."

Giles started pacing, his face clouded with visible disturbance. The rhythmic sound of his footsteps only served to heighten the tension in the room.

"Giles, you're in pace mode," Buffy scolded, her eyes following him. "What gives?"

"The vampire who escaped," Giles began, stopping to face her, his expression intense. "Did you see what he took?"

Buffy shook her head, her brows knitting together in mild frustration. "No," she admitted. "I was kind of busy fighting another vamp. I didn't get a good look at what the thief took."

Giles's eyes narrowed, his tone growing sharper. "So, you made no effort to find out what was taken?"

Buffy looked up at him, a little surprised by his sudden intensity. "I said, no," she repeated, more firmly this time.

"This could be very serious, Buffy," Giles pressed on, the urgency in his voice undeniable. "If you'd made more of an effort to be thorough in your observations—"

Buffy's patience snapped. Her eyes flashed, and in an instant, her form morphed into her demon form, Nyxara. "You questioning me, Giles?" Nyxara's voice was a low, menacing growl. The room seemed to drop several degrees; the air thick with tension.

Giles took a step back, his face blanching. He'd seen Buffy in her demonic form before, but it always had a way of unsettling him. "Buffy," he stammered, trying to maintain his composure. "I didn't mean to question your capabilities. It's just—"

Nyxara took a step toward him, her presence commanding and formidable. "It's just what?" she demanded; her eyes boring into his. "You think I don't take my duties seriously? You think I don't understand the stakes?"

Giles swallowed hard, his mind racing. He knew he had to choose his next words carefully. "I know you do," he said, his voice softer, more placating. "But this situation could be more dangerous than we realize. If they were stealing something specific, it means they have a plan. And that plan could be catastrophic."

Nyxara's glare softened slightly, the glow in her eyes dimming. She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. Slowly, she transformed back into Buffy, the familiar contours of her human face returning.

"I get it, Giles," Buffy said quietly, her voice steady but laced with lingering irritation.

Giles tried to keep up with Buffy as she hurried through the cemetery, his breathing growing heavier with each hurried step. "Buffy," he sighed, struggling to match her pace. "Please. Slow down."

Buffy glanced back at him, her expression tight with impatience. "If you had let me, we could have been there already," she reminded him. "I could have shimmered us straight there."

Giles shuddered at the memory. "After doing that with your brother, I am not interested in a repeat experience," he said, adjusting his glasses. The memory of shimmering with Cole had left him disoriented for hours. "Buffy, is something wrong?"

"Like what?" Buffy wondered; her tone defensive as she pressed forward.

Giles paused, choosing his words carefully. "With Cole?" he ventured, watching her closely for a reaction. "I spoke to Willow. She informed me you hadn't seen him in a week."

Buffy stopped abruptly, her shoulders tensing. She turned to face Giles, her eyes betraying a mix of worry and frustration. "I haven't heard from him," she admitted. "And it's not like him to just disappear without a word. Not anymore."

Giles nodded, understanding the gravity of her concern. "You've checked all the usual places?"

"Of course, I have," Buffy snapped, then softened. "I've been to his apartment, called his phone, even checked with some of our… less reputable contacts. Nothing."

Giles placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "We'll find him, Buffy," he said gently. "But we need to stay focused on the task at hand. If the vampires are up to something, we can't afford to be distracted."

Buffy nodded, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "I know," she said. "It's just… he's my brother, Giles. I'm the older sibling, remember. I'm a hundred and sixteen years old while he's only a hundred and eleven. I can't help but worry."

"And you should," Giles agreed. "But you're not alone in this. We'll figure it out together." He looked around the cemetery. "Now, where exactly are we headed?"

"There," Buffy pointed toward a distant mausoleum, its silhouette looming ominously against the night sky. "That's where I saw them last night."

Buffy pulled open the heavy iron door and went in, Giles following closely behind. The air inside was thick with dust and the scent of decay, a testament to the years of neglect. She'd remembered to bring a flashlight with her; now she flicked it on, playing the beam all around the gloomy interior, the shadows dancing eerily against the stone walls. After a moment, she led Giles over to the vault in the far wall, where the door was still standing ajar.

"May I?" Giles asked softly, his voice echoing slightly in the confined space.

"Be my guest," Buffy said, stepping aside.

Giles took the flashlight from her, his eyes narrowing as he shone it into the empty vault. "It's a reliquary," he explained, his voice tinged with scholarly enthusiasm. "Used to house items of religious significance. Most commonly, a finger or some other body part from a saint."

"Not the first time I've run into a reliquary, Giles," Buffy said, her tone casual but laced with a hint of dark nostalgia. "The Triad had me and Cole raid one back in 1930."

Giles turned back around, scanning the rest of the wall with the flashlight. The beam illuminated a series of bold letters carved into the granite above the doorway.

"Du Lac…" Giles read the name aloud, his voice filled with recognition and concern. "Oh dear…"

"That name sounds familiar," Buffy said, her brows furrowing as she pulled on her century's worth of experience.

"Josephus du Lac is buried here," Giles said, his expression growing more grave by the second. "He belonged to a sect of priests who were excommunicated by the Vatican at the turn of the century. Remember the book that was stolen from the library by a vampire a few weeks back?" He paused for breath, his words coming faster as his excitement grew. "It was written by du Lac and his cohorts—" Frustrated, he broke off, then added, "Damn it. In all the excitement, I let it slip my mind."

"The Du Lac manuscript," Buffy said with a nod, her memory clicking into place. "Now I know why I recognize the name. It was actually one of my first missions. The Triad wanted the manuscript since it could reap unspeakable evil. Sent me to retrieve it. I never did find it. And now we know why—because it was buried here."

"However, it was written in archaic Latin, so nobody but the sect members could read it." Giles looked even more pensive than usual; his brow furrowed in deep thought. The lines on his face seemed to carve deeper with worry. "I don't like it, Buffy. First, the book is taken from the library. Now vampires steal something from du Lac's tomb—"

"You think they've figured out how to read the book?" Buffy asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and concern.

"I don't know," Giles replied, shaking his head slowly, his eyes deeply troubled as if they bore the weight of a thousand unspoken fears. "But something's coming, Buffy. And I guarantee, whatever it is—it's not good."

Halliwell Manor

In the kitchen of the Manor, Prue and Piper were engrossed in their task, the atmosphere charged with a mix of determination and apprehension. They stood over a bubbling pot, the air thick with the scent of mystical ingredients as Piper carefully added a crucial component. With a hiss and a sudden burst of flame, the potion reacted, indicating a step in the right direction.

"Okay, even if this works, we still have to find Belthazor," Piper remarked, her voice tinged with worry as she glanced at Prue.

"Well, I have an idea how to do that but first things first," Prue replied calmly, her focus unwavering. "Cockles."

"Cockles?" Piper echoed, her gaze scanning the array of jars and vials on the counter.

"They're over by the crickets," Prue informed her, gesturing towards a section of the counter cluttered with various mystical components.

Piper quirked an eyebrow. "And what exactly are they?"

"Small leaping insects that chirp," Prue explained matter-of-factly, a hint of amusement touching her voice as Piper chuckled.

"That's funny," Piper admitted with a grin, passing a set of cockle shells to Prue. "I meant the cockle shells, not the crickets."

Prue shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm not entirely sure, but as long as they help vanquish Belthazor, that's all I really care about."

"It would be nice to get back to our lives, such as they were," Piper sighed wistfully, a longing for normalcy evident in her voice.

"So, would I, Piper," Prue sighed, her voice carrying a mix of resignation and longing for normalcy amidst their magical endeavors. "Pigs feet."

Piper fetched the jar of pig's feet and handed it over to Prue, who deftly dropped one into the simmering potion. Flames licked the air once more, casting flickering shadows on the kitchen walls. "Poor piggy," Piper murmured sympathetically, her gaze momentarily drifting to the bubbling concoction.

"Uh, everything's in there, we just need to get the slice of Belthazor flesh and we're good to go," Prue declared, her tone businesslike as she focused on the task at hand. "Let's test it. Pheebs?"

Piper hesitated; her expression troubled. "Something tells me she's not in a vanquishing mood," she remarked, a note of concern coloring her voice.

"Why not?" Prue inquired, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"She misses Cole," Piper explained softly, her tone tinged with empathy. "She hasn't heard from him in a week."

"And that's a bad thing?" Prue asked, her voice tinged with skepticism.

"Prue!" Piper exclaimed, her eyes widening in surprise at her sister's blunt response.

"You know what?" Prue continued, her tone firm. "I don't like him and I don't trust him. And it has nothing to do with him being a greasy lawyer either."

"Greasy what?" Phoebe's voice carried curiosity and a hint of amusement as she breezed into the kitchen, her eyes scanning the scene before her.

"Uh, greasy layer," Piper improvised quickly, her tone casual as she covered for Prue's comment. "There's a greasy layer on this potion. Too much mandrake," she added, nodding towards the bubbling pot. "Okay, uh, what do you say we do this incantation," she suggested, eager to redirect the conversation to their task at hand.

Phoebe's expression turned serious, her resolve evident. "Anything to get rid of Belthazor before Cole gets back," she declared firmly. "And he is coming back."

"Okay," Piper acknowledged, her voice steady as she prepared to lead the incantation.

"Spirits of air, forests, and sea, set us of this demon free; beasts of hoof and beasts of shell, drive this evil back to hell," the three sisters chanted in unison, their voices blending with the crackling of the potion. Yet, despite their synchronized efforts, the cauldron bubbled in frustration, showing no signs of effect.

"Uh-oh, didn't work," Phoebe's voice rang out with disappointment, echoing the collective frustration in the room.

"No, you forgot the Belthazor flesh," Prue pointed out with a knowing look directed at Piper.

"Oh, yes," Piper acknowledged sheepishly, her steps purposeful as she hurried over to the refrigerator. She swung open the door, retrieving a small, carefully wrapped package containing the elusive ingredient they needed.

"How can we forget the Belthazor flesh?" Phoebe interjected, a mix of amusement and exasperation coloring her tone.

"Such a slacker," Prue teased good-naturedly, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she ribbed her sister.

"Give me a second, lady. All right, ready?" Piper announced confidently as she returned to the cauldron, the package of Belthazor flesh held firmly in her hand. With practiced precision, she carefully added it to the simmering potion.

But instead of a smooth integration, the mixture erupted violently, a sudden explosion of magical energy that sent Piper sprawling backward. The force knocked her off her feet and she landed hard on the kitchen floor, her body jolting with the impact.

"Piper!?" Phoebe cried out in alarm, her heart pounding as she rushed to her sister's side alongside Prue.

"Are you all right?" Prue asked urgently, concern etched in her features as she helped Piper sit up.

"Attack of the killer pig's feet. Remind me to step back next time," Piper quipped weakly, a strained smile on her face as she attempted to lighten the mood despite the lingering shock of the explosion.

Sunnydale High

School had been over for hours, and the library was cloaked in the dim light of dusk as Buffy, Xander, and Willow gathered around a table cluttered with old books and artifacts. They had been there since Buffy and Giles returned from the cemetery, urgently discussing the implications of the stolen book and the significance of du Lac's tomb.

"So, Giles is sure that the vampire who stole his book is connected to the one you slayed last night?" Willow asked Buffy, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Or is it 'slew'?" she added thoughtfully.

"Both are correct," Giles replied absentmindedly as he paced among the bookshelves. After a moment of searching, he emerged with a yellowed periodical in hand. Setting it down before them, they could see it was a National Geographic issue from 1921.

"Du Lac was both a theologian and a mathematician," Giles explained, flipping through the pages to reveal a discolored photograph of the du Lac Cross. "This article describes an invention of his, the du Lac Cross—"

"Why go to all the trouble of inventing something and then give it a weak name like that?" Xander interrupted with a wry grin. "I'd have gone with 'Cross-o-matic!' or 'The Amazing Mr. Cross!'" His attempt at humor fell flat in the serious atmosphere of the library, and he trailed off under the weight of their disapproving stares.

Ignoring Xander's comment, Giles continued, pointing to the photograph. "The cross was more than a symbol; it was used to understand certain mystical texts, to decipher hidden meanings and so forth."

"According to this," Willow added, absorbed in the article, "du Lac destroyed every one of the crosses he made, except the one buried with him."

Buffy frowned, her mind racing with possibilities. "Why destroy his own work?" she wondered aloud, her gaze flicking from Giles to Willow and Xander.

"I suppose he feared what might happen if the cross fell into the wrong hands," Giles suggested, his voice laced with concern as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"A fear we'll soon get to experience for ourselves, up close and personal," Xander chimed in, his tone more serious than usual.

"Unless," Giles murmured, his mind already racing with strategies, "we preempt their plans."

Willow leaned forward eagerly, her eyes shining with anticipation. "How?"

"By learning what was in the book before they do," Giles stated firmly, his gaze sweeping over his companions with a sense of grim determination. "Which means we can expect to be here late tonight—"

Willow's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Goody! A research party!"

"Will," Xander interjected with a playful grin, "you need a life in the worst way—"

"Speaking of," Buffy interrupted cheerily, "I have to bail. I promise I'll be back bright and early, perky and ready to slay."

Giles' expression turned perplexed, a hint of frustration in his voice. "This is a matter of some urgency, Buffy."

"I know," Buffy responded quickly, sensing Giles' concern. "I have plans with Angel tonight. Or do I need to change into my demon form again, Giles? I promise I will be back bright and early in the morning."

Giles sighed, realizing Buffy's commitment to her personal life despite the impending danger. "Very well," he conceded reluctantly, "but make sure you're here early tomorrow."

"Got it!" Buffy flashed a reassuring smile before grabbing her bag and heading for the library doors.

Ice Rink

The ice-skating rink looked ethereal under the moonlit sky. Buffy glided across the smooth surface, her movements fluid and confident. Moonbeams filtered through the tall windows, casting a soft, silvery glow around her as she spun and twirled with practiced ease.

Breathing deeply of the crisp air, Buffy relished her solitude. She had worried about forgetting how to skate, but now, each technique flowed effortlessly back to her. Her hair danced around her face in the gentle breeze she created with her speed and agility.

Lost in the joy of the moment, Buffy was oblivious to the presence watching her from the shadows of the bleachers. Octarus, his scarred face twisted into a malevolent grin, observed her every move with sinister intent.

As Buffy pivoted backward, gaining confidence and speed, she attempted a daring airborne twist. At its peak, her balance faltered, and she landed hard, sliding across the ice until she came to an abrupt halt.

Gasping for breath, Buffy noticed a shadow flit across the ice in front of her. Instantly alert, she scanned her surroundings. "Angel?"

Before she could react, massive hands closed around her neck. Octarus lifted her effortlessly off the ice, carrying her to the rink's rubber deck where he pinned her against the wall with brutal force.

In a swift, reflexive transformation, Buffy morphed into Nyxara, her demonic form towering over Octarus. He stumbled back in astonishment, staring at her with wide eyes filled with a mixture of fear and disbelief. "I didn't know you were a demon," he stammered, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.

Nyxara's eyes narrowed as she faced Octarus, her demonic features etched with a mix of curiosity and defiance. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice carrying an otherworldly resonance.

"I am Octarus, of the Order of Taraka," the demon replied, his voice tinged with gruff authority. "My colleagues and I were hired to eliminate the Slayer. No one informed us she was half-human, half-demon."

"Because only a select few knew my true nature," Nyxara retorted, her gaze piercing.

"Buffy!" Angel's voice cut through the tension, drawing their attention. He strode purposefully towards them, his face twisted in to its predatory form. His brow furrowed with concern. "What's going on?"

Nyxara turned to Angel, her expression grave. "The Order of Taraka has been sent to kill me," she informed him, her tone resolute yet tinged with a hint of urgency.

Angel's brow furrowed deeper at Octarus's revelation. He glanced between the towering demon and Nyxara, his mind racing with the implications.

"The Order of Taraka?" Angel repeated, his voice edged with concern and a hint of disbelief.

Octarus nodded grimly, his scarred face twisting into a semblance of a smile that held no warmth. "Yes," he confirmed. "A vampire named Spike hired us. I know not what for, only that our task was to eliminate the Slayer."

Nyxara's eyes flashed with a mix of defiance and calculation. "Spike," she murmured, her mind instantly connecting the dots. "He's been a thorn in our side before."

Angel's jaw tightened as he absorbed the gravity of the situation. Spike, always unpredictable and dangerous, had once again set his sights on Nyxara. The thought churned his stomach with a mixture of anger and worry. "We need to find out more," Angel stated firmly, his voice low but resolute. "Why Spike wants you dead."

Nyxara nodded in agreement, her posture tense with readiness. "And what he's planning next."

Streets of Sunnydale

Buffy trudged through the chilly night air, her mind still racing from the unexpected encounter at the ice rink and Angel's urgent departure with Octarus. Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted as a shimmering figure materialized before her. It was Triggs, a towering figure with dark hair and an air of menace that even his apparent familiarity with Buffy couldn't diminish.

Before she could react, Triggs's strong grip closed around her, squeezing tight with a force that threatened to crush her windpipe. "Where's Belthazor?" His voice rumbled like distant thunder, a dangerous edge underlying his words.

Buffy managed a strained smile, her breath constricted. "Good to see you too, Triggs," she managed to choke out, her gaze meeting his intense stare. Despite the dire situation, she knew Triggs's conflicted emotions towards her offered a slim thread of security—he wouldn't kill her outright.

"Answer the question," Triggs demanded, easing the pressure on her neck just enough to allow speech, though his grip remained firm. His loyalty to his former blood brother, Cole, was evident in his concern, however twisted it might be.

"I don't know," Buffy replied evenly, her voice steady despite the discomfort. It was the truth—Cole's whereabouts had been a mystery to her for days now.

Triggs studied her, searching her eyes for any trace of deception. After a tense moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, he released her. His expression softened slightly, acknowledging her honesty. "You will tell the Brotherhood Belthazor's whereabouts the second you find out," he instructed firmly, his tone brooking no argument. It was a command laced with the weight of their shared history and the consequences of betrayal.

Buffy's defiance flared as she met his gaze with steely resolve. "Right back at ya," she retorted sharply, her jaw set in defiance against the Brotherhood's threats.

"Nyxara," Triggs addressed her by her demon name, a reminder of her dual nature and the dangers that came with it. "Don't let Belthazor drag you down with him. The Source has ordered for you both to be killed."

Buffy stood her ground, her resolve steeling against Triggs's veiled threats and warnings. The night seemed to close in around them, the weight of their conversation heavy in the air.

"The Source can try," Buffy reiterated, her voice edged with determination, "but I won't go down without a fight, and neither will Cole."

Triggs's gaze hardened, his frustration palpable. "Be careful, Nyxara," he cautioned, his tone tinged with both concern and a lingering fondness from years past. "You're playing a dangerous game. The Brotherhood is willing to intervene on your behalf with the Source if you cooperate and turn your brother over. Otherwise, bounty hunters will come for you."

Buffy's brow furrowed as she contemplated his words. "Like the Order of Taraka?" she interjected, sensing Triggs's confusion.

Triggs paused, his expression clouded with uncertainty. "Why would the Source use the Order of Taraka?" he countered, his voice betraying a hint of disbelief. "Demonic bounty hunters are far more suited to handle an upper-level demon like yourself."

"The Order of Taraka is after me," Buffy clarified, her voice steady despite the unease gnawing at her. "Sent by a vampire named Spike. I don't know why. I assumed since the Source wants us dead, that—"

"Maybe he ordered this Spike to do it," Triggs interjected thoughtfully, connecting the dots. "But he did not, Nyxara. Vampires—both Nosferatu and Vampirus—were exiled from the Underworld. The Source would never enlist the help of a vampire."

Buffy realized that she was facing a war on two fronts. She and her friends against Spike and the Order of Taraka on one side. She and Cole against the Source and his bounty hunters on the other.

November 25, 1997 – Tuesday

Halliwell Manor

Prue descended the grand staircase with a composed elegance just as Phoebe strode purposefully into the foyer. "Hey," Prue greeted her sister with a hint of curiosity in her voice.

"I'll be back," Phoebe replied, her tone clipped and preoccupied.

"Um, where are you going?" Prue inquired, her eyebrows knitting together in mild concern.

"I am going to school," Phoebe explained as they moved into the cozy living room, filled with the soft glow of morning light filtering through the windows. She methodically slipped a few textbooks into her bag, her movements brisk and efficient. "And then I'm going to Cole's."

"Okay, but aren't you forgetting a little something? Like vanquishing Belthazor?" Prue's voice carried a mixture of urgency and exasperation.

"Wait, I thought you had to write a spell to summon him first," Phoebe said, her face clouding with confusion as she paused in her preparations.

"Yes, and it's done," Prue confirmed with a hint of pride. "I'm using the one that we called Melinda from the past with, just re-wrote it a little bit."

"Really? Think it'll work?" Phoebe asked, a flicker of hope mingling with doubt in her eyes.

"Well, yeah, I mean, it should," Prue said confidently. "It's magic calling magic. Although, in this case, dark magic. Phoebe, why are you going to Cole's again? I mean, what do you really expect to find?"

"Mmm, actually, I was gonna go to his office," Phoebe admitted, her voice softening slightly. She hesitated before adding, "And how do you know I've already been to Cole's?"

"Well, you got a parking ticket there yesterday when you borrowed my car," Prue replied, her voice tinged with mild annoyance. The memory of seeing the bright yellow slip tucked under her windshield wiper was still fresh.

"Oops, sorry, I'll pay for it," Phoebe said, offering a sheepish smile as she adjusted the strap of her bag.

"Phoebe, that's not the point," Prue said, her tone softening as she sighed. "Look, please, don't take this out on me, all right? I'm not the bad guy here."

"I know," Phoebe said, her expression earnest. "I would just like some understanding, you know, some support here."

"Look, I can't support you when I think you're just setting yourself up to get hurt," Prue said, her eyes locking onto Phoebe's with a mix of concern and frustration. "I have to be honest with you, we have to be honest with each other. That's the promise we made when Belthazor tried to split us apart, remember?"

"Yeah, it just doesn't help that you never really liked Cole from the beginning," Phoebe said, her voice tinged with the faintest hint of resentment.

"Yeah, well, I mean, you never really liked any of my boyfriend's either," Prue reminded her, a rueful smile playing on her lips as she recalled the many disagreements over their respective choices in partners.

"That's very true," Phoebe agreed, her smile mirroring Prue's, the tension between them easing just a little.

"I'm sorry, all right? This is your call and not mine," Prue said, her voice earnest as she took a step closer to her sister. Just then, Piper walked in, her presence adding a new dynamic to the conversation.

"Thank you," Phoebe said, her voice soft and sincere, grateful for Prue's attempt at understanding.

"Okay, are we gonna do this or what?" Piper asked, her voice breaking the lingering tension as she stepped into the room with an air of determination.

"Uh, we are, Phoebe's not," Prue informed Piper, glancing over at Phoebe with a mix of resignation and resolve.

"Are you sure?" Phoebe asked, uncertainty clouding her eyes as she searched Prue's face for reassurance.

"Yeah, yeah, go to Cole's," Prue said, waving a dismissive hand. "It's fine. We don't need the Power of Three to vanquish, just the potion."

"Okay, well, why don't you take this just in case," Piper said, her voice gentle yet firm as she handed Phoebe a small vial filled with the Belthazor vanquishing potion. The liquid inside shimmered ominously, a tangible reminder of the danger they faced.

Phoebe accepted the vial, clutching it tightly in her hand. "Okay, just... you guys, no more whispering, okay? It's hard enough for me to know that Cole's keeping secrets from me. I can't take it from you too," she pleaded, her voice tinged with vulnerability and frustration. Her eyes lingered on her sisters, seeking a promise of transparency and support.

Prue and Piper exchanged a quick, understanding glance, their silent agreement forming in the shared look. As Phoebe turned and left, the door closing softly behind her, the weight of her words hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the fragile balance they all struggled to maintain.

Sunnydale High

The first thing Buffy did was to go to Giles and tell him about everything she had learned the night before. The library, usually a place of quiet study, was filled with an undercurrent of tension. Xander and Willow were at the table, their expressions serious as they poured over various texts. Buffy sat nearby, her presence commanding immediate attention.

"I am facing a war on two fronts," Buffy began, her voice steady but carrying an edge of urgency. "On one front, according to this guy Octarus, Spike hired the Order of Taraka to kill me. On the other, I am facing the Source and his legion of demonic bounty hunters if I don't turn my brother over to him."

"I don't know how we can help you with the Source and his bounty hunters," Giles said, his brow furrowed in deep concern. "None of us have the powers to go up against an upper-level demon. Now the Order of Taraka is another thing entirely. They are a society of demon assassins dating back to King Solomon—"

"And didn't they beat the Elks last year in the Sunnydale Adult Bowling League Championship?" Xander asked seriously, attempting to lighten the mood.

Giles ignored him, continuing, "Their credo is to sow discord and kill the unwary."

"Bowling is a vicious game—" Xander added, unable to resist.

"That's enough, Xander!" Giles snapped; his patience worn thin. He took a breath, then softened. "I'm sorry, but this is not the time for jokes. I need to think."

"Yeah, I need you guys to figure out what Spike is trying to stop me from preventing," Buffy said, her tone resolute. She stood up; the weight of her responsibilities evident in her posture. "I am going to San Francisco to find my brother. I will check in every few hours."

Willow's eyes widened with concern. "Buffy, San Francisco is a big city. Are you sure you'll be okay on your own?"

"I'll manage," Buffy replied, her voice firm yet reassuring. "Right now, finding my brother is the key to dealing with the Source. Stay safe, and keep working on any leads you can find."

Xander gave her a supportive nod. "We've got your back, Buff. Just be careful."

Buffy gave her friends a grateful smile, her eyes lingering on each of them before she shimmered out.

Streets of San Francisco

Cole was in a dimly lit alley, his breaths coming in sharp, pained gasps. His hand pressed firmly against the deep, bleeding wound in his side, the warm blood seeping through his fingers. He leaned heavily against the cold, rough brick wall, feeling its harsh texture against his back as he tried to steady himself. With a grimace, he shrugged off his coat, letting it fall to the ground in a heap. The cold night air bit at his exposed skin, but he ignored it, focusing on the task at hand.

He unbuttoned his shirt with trembling fingers, each movement sending jolts of pain through his body. Gritting his teeth, he peeled the blood-soaked rag away from his wound, wincing as the fabric stuck to the drying blood. He tossed the rag aside, his hand now slick with blood as he fumbled to remove his shirt. Desperation and frustration built within him as he struggled to rip the shirt in half. Realizing his human strength was insufficient he changed into his demonic form, and with a single, powerful tear, he split the shirt in two.

Belthazor pressed one half of the torn shirt against his wound, trying to staunch the bleeding. Just then, the sound of shuffling footsteps echoed through the alley. Startled, he looked up to see a homeless man turning the corner, his eyes widening at the sight of Belthazor. In a flash of panic and instinct, Belthazor fled.

The homeless man, bewildered but drawn by curiosity, walked over to where Cole had dropped his coat. He bent down, picking up the heavy garment, its fine fabric a stark contrast to his own ragged appearance.

Halliwell Manor

In the dimly lit dining room of the Manor, Prue and Piper were huddled behind the heavy oak table, which they had turned on its side, creating a makeshift barricade. The room felt charged with anticipation, the air thick with the scent of burning sage and herbs.

"This is gonna be messy," Piper said, her voice a mix of determination and apprehension as she peeked over the edge of the table.

"That's why we Scotchgard," Prue replied with a wry smile, trying to inject a bit of levity into the tense atmosphere. She handed Piper the small vial of potion, its contents swirling with a faint, eerie glow. "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," Piper said, taking a deep breath and tightening her grip on the vial.

"All right," Prue said, her voice steady and commanding. She cast a quick glance around the room, ensuring everything was in place. Then, with a nod to Piper, they began to chant in unison.

"Magic forces black and white, reaching out through space and light, be he far or be he near, bring us the demon Belthazor here."

As their voices intertwined, the temperature in the room dropped, and a powerful wind began to swirl, rustling the curtains and scattering loose papers. The candles flickered violently, casting wild shadows that danced across their faces.

"It's working," Piper said, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and excitement as the wind grew stronger.

"All right, you ready?" Prue asked, her eyes fixed on the center of the room where the summoning spell was taking effect.

Piper nodded, her jaw set with determination. "Uh-huh."

The wind reached a fever pitch, and a vortex of dark energy began to form, crackling with electric sparks. The air vibrated with the intensity of the summoning spell, and Prue and Piper braced themselves, knowing that in mere moments, they would come face to face with Belthazor. They exchanged a final, resolute glance, each drawing strength from the other, ready to confront the demon that had caused them so much turmoil.

"On three," Prue said, her voice low but filled with resolve.

"1, 2, 3," Piper and Prue counted together, their voices synchronized and steady. As the final syllable left their lips, a demon named Krell appeared before them, his presence casting an ominous shadow over the room. Without hesitation, they hurled the potion at him, expecting a dramatic reaction.

But nothing happened.

"There's no boom. Why is there no boom?" Piper said, her voice tinged with confusion and frustration.

"I don't know," Prue replied, equally bewildered.

"Stupid witches," Krell sneered, his voice dripping with contempt.

Prue and Piper peered cautiously over the edge of the table. "He's not…" Prue began, but her words were cut off as Krell raised his hand, aiming a blast of dark energy at them. They ducked just in time, the bolt missing them but hitting the table, leaving a smoldering hole.

"Ooh, you know what? That is an antique!" Prue exclaimed, her voice rising with indignation. With a swift wave of her hand, she used her telekinesis to send Krell flying across the room, slamming him into the grandfather clock with a resounding crash.

Piper flicked her wrist, freezing Krell in mid-air just before he could hit the ground. "Not the clock! We can't afford to keep fixing that thing," she said, exasperation evident in her tone as they walked over to their immobilized foe. She examined Krell closely. "Unless Belthazor can morph, that is definitely not him."

"All right, that doesn't make sense. How did we get the wrong demon?" Prue wondered aloud, frustration clear in her voice. She glanced at Piper, an idea forming. "Hey, do you think you could just unfreeze his head? That way we could ask."

"His head?" Piper echoed, her eyebrow arching with curiosity.

"Yeah, his head," Prue confirmed, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

"Why not?" Piper said, concentrating. With a delicate motion of her fingers, she unfroze Krell's head, leaving the rest of his body frozen. "That's different."

"That's cool," Prue said, and both sisters giggled, momentarily lightening the tension in the room.

Krell's eyes darted around wildly, the rest of his body immobile. "What did you do to me?" he growled, his voice seething with anger.

"Uh, hi," Prue said, leaning closer with a mocking sweetness. "You know what? You're sort of frozen in mid-air, so we'll be asking the questions, okay? Who are you?"

"Someone who's gonna butcher you if you don't unfreeze me right now," Krell spat, his eyes burning with rage.

Piper glanced at Prue, who nodded slightly. "Okay," Piper said, and with a casual flick of her wrist, she unfroze the rest of Krell's body. He dropped like a stone, crashing into the grandfather clock with a resounding thud.

Prue shot Piper a look, her eyebrows raised in a mix of disbelief and amusement. "What?" Piper asked defensively, shrugging. "It was worth it."

Piper and Prue walked over to Krell, who lay sprawled on the floor, his eyes still flashing with defiance. Prue placed her foot firmly on his chest, pinning him down. "All right, you start talking, or we start the bonus round," she said, her tone deadly serious.

"I am Krell, a Zotar," Krell said, his voice low and grudging.

"Hi, I'm Prue, a Scorpio. Where's Belthazor?" Prue retorted, her sarcasm barely masking her impatience.

Krell pushed Prue's leg off his chest with a surprising burst of strength. Instinctively, Prue and Piper took a few steps back, readying themselves for another attack. But instead of striking, Krell slowly stood up, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "Wait, don't. I won't attack if you don't," he said, his voice softer, almost pleading. "I'm a bounty hunter. I track fugitive demons, and it looks like we're after the same one."

Assistant District Attorney's Office

Phoebe walked up to the door of Cole's office, her heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. She paused for a moment, glancing around the empty hallway before pushing the door open and stepping inside. The office was dimly lit, the blinds drawn, casting long shadows across the room. Her eyes quickly fell on someone sitting in Cole's chair, facing the wall.

"Cole?" she called out hesitantly, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet room.

The chair spun around, revealing a man she didn't recognize. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I was just looking for Cole Turner," she stammered, feeling a rush of embarrassment.

"Well, that's all right, so am I," the man replied smoothly, rising from the chair and walking towards her. He was tall, with a sharp, professional demeanor. "Reese Davidson, DA Bureau of Investigations," he said, flashing a badge with a practiced flick of his wrist. "And you are?"

"Phoebe," she answered, her voice steadying as she met his gaze.

"Phoebe? Is that like Cher or Madonna, or do you have a last name?" Reese asked, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"No, of course. Uh, Halliwell. Phoebe Halliwell," she clarified, a nervous smile playing on her lips. "Is Cole okay?"

Reese's expression turned serious. "How do you know him?"

"You didn't answer my question," Phoebe shot back, her concern for Cole overriding her initial apprehension.

"I know," Reese admitted with a sigh. "Look, I have no idea if he's all right or not. That's what I'm trying to figure out. Nobody's heard from him since last week. Are you his girl?"

"Yeah, I'm his girl," Phoebe said firmly, her eyes narrowing as she tried to gauge Reese's intentions. She could feel a knot of worry tightening in her stomach.

"Well, did he mention anything to you about what he was doing? Where he was going?" Reese asked, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scrutinized Phoebe's reaction.

"No. A couple of weeks ago he had a suitcase packed, but he said his plans had changed," Phoebe replied, her mind racing back to that day, trying to recall any detail she might have missed.

"What plan?" Reese pressed; his curiosity piqued.

"I don't know. Uh, something about a big case that he was working on," Phoebe said, her voice trailing off as uncertainty crept in.

"Hmm…" Reese murmured thoughtfully, picking up a folder from Cole's desk. "Now, according to his filings, he hasn't been working on a case, big or small. Not for a couple of months. All he's done is file extensions. Makes you wonder what he's been doing with himself." He paused, studying Phoebe's worried expression. "Well, if you happen to hear from him or if you think of anything that might help," he handed her his card, "call me, okay?"

"Okay," Phoebe said, taking the card. She slipped it into her pocket, feeling a heavy weight settle on her shoulders. As she left the office, her thoughts swirled with confusion and worry.

On her way out of the building, she turned a corner and nearly collided with someone. "Sorry," she said automatically, then did a double-take when she recognized the familiar face. "Oh, Buffy, hi."

"Hey, Phoebe. I was just checking to see if Cole is in," Buffy said, her voice tinged with concern.

"He's not," Phoebe replied, shaking her head. "In fact, no one has seen him in a week. Have you heard from him?"

"Not since that day you and I met," Buffy said, a frown creasing her forehead. "I'm beginning to worry."

Phoebe sighed, feeling a kinship in their shared anxiety. "Me too. Reese Davidson from the DA's office is looking for him as well. He said Cole hasn't been working on any cases recently, even though Cole told me he was dealing with something big."

Buffy's eyes widened slightly. "That's strange. Cole's not the type to just disappear."

"I know," Phoebe agreed. "There's something going on, something he didn't tell me about. I'm scared, Buffy. What if he's in real trouble?"

Buffy placed a comforting hand on Phoebe's shoulder. "We'll find him, Phoebe. Whatever it takes. We'll figure this out together."

Phoebe nodded, drawing strength from Buffy's reassurance. "Thanks, Buffy. I'll keep you updated if I learn anything new."

"And I'll do the same," Buffy replied, her voice resolute. "We won't let him face this alone."

Sunnydale High

"I wish there was more we could do," Willow sighed, her voice tinged with exhaustion and frustration. She looked down at the table, which was covered with volumes and volumes of ancient, dusty books. She traced her finger along the edge of one of the open tomes, feeling the rough texture of the aged parchment beneath her touch. Despite their tenacious efforts, she felt more than a little discouraged.

Giles looked up from the book he was poring over, his own face mirroring her fatigue and concern. His glasses were slightly askew, and he pushed them up the bridge of his nose with a weary hand. "We're doing all we can," he said, his voice steady but gentle, trying to reassure her. "We can't help her with her brother. But we can help her with Spike and the Order of Taraka," he assured her, his tone firm with determination. "Which means our only course of action is to decipher the contents of the stolen book to see what Spike is up to."

Willow nodded; her eyes still fixed on the books. She could see the intricate, faded illustrations and the elegant, spidery script that filled the pages. Each book represented hours of painstaking research, yet they had yielded few answers so far. She reached for her notebook, where she had been meticulously recording any relevant information, and flipped through the pages filled with her neat, precise handwriting.

"We've been through so much already," Willow said softly, a hint of desperation in her voice. "But it feels like every time we get close to understanding something, another mystery pops up."

Giles sighed and removed his glasses, rubbing his tired eyes. "I know it seems that way, but we must keep pressing on. Every piece of information we uncover, no matter how small, brings us one step closer to protecting Buffy and stopping Spike's plans."

Just then, the phone in Giles' cluttered office rang insistently, disrupting the solemn atmosphere of ancient tomes and flickering candlelight. Giles straightened, his movements quick and purposeful as he crossed the room to answer it.

"Sunnydale High Library, Rupert Giles speaking," he greeted with his usual professional tone, his voice carrying a hint of anticipation.

"Giles, it's Buffy. Any luck with Spike?" Buffy's voice crackled with urgency from the other end of the line, the faint sounds of distant chaos barely audible over the phone.

"None as yet," Giles responded evenly, though his concern for Buffy's safety was evident. "How is your search for Cole going?"

"So far, no luck," Buffy admitted with a sigh, frustration tingeing her words. "Could you get someone to go to my house, just to see if maybe Cole showed up there?"

"I'll send Xander over right away," Giles assured her without hesitation, his commitment to supporting Buffy unwavering.

The line clicked off, leaving Giles to contemplate the gravity of their situation. He glanced over the scattered books and ancient artifacts that cluttered his workspace, a testament to the ongoing battle against the forces of darkness. With a determined expression, he swiftly relayed the task to Xander.

Halliwell Manor

"I should've known better than to underestimate him," Krell said, his voice laced with regret as he stood a couple of feet from Piper and Prue. "I thought that because Belthazor couldn't shimmer, his other powers were useless as well."

"So, you don't have the power to vanquish him?" Piper asked, her eyes narrowing with a mix of suspicion and frustration.

Krell shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "Obviously not. Otherwise, I wouldn't have needed to intercept your little calling card, now would I?"

Piper crossed her arms, a defiant look on her face. "Hey, you know what?" she said, stepping closer. "How about next time I just freeze your head and then maybe I could kick you in the—"

"All right, uh, so Belthazor was sent by the Triad to kill us," Prue interrupted, her tone sharp as she cut off Piper. "How do we know that you weren't sent by them too?"

"You're joking, right?" Krell asked incredulously, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. "I don't believe this. You really don't know? Your Whitelighter must really be sleeping on the job."

"Hey, now wait a minute, pal," Piper said, her voice rising in defense of Leo.

"Piper," Prue said warningly, placing a calming hand on her sister's arm before turning back to Krell. "What don't we know?"

Krell sighed, his expression shifting from frustration to something almost sympathetic. "Belthazor killed the Triad," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of the revelation. "That's why he's on the run, that's why I'm here."

"Why would he do that?" Prue wondered aloud, her eyes meeting Piper's with a mixture of confusion and concern. Her brow furrowed, and a hint of desperation flickered in her gaze, as if searching for an explanation that made sense in their chaotic world.

"Probably because they were going to kill him," Krell replied, his tone matter-of-fact and devoid of any sympathy. His cold eyes revealed a hardened soul, accustomed to the brutal logic of their existence. "For failing to kill you. Ironically, his inability to shimmer saved him from you killing him."

"So instead, we got you," Prue said, her voice tinged with a trace of bitterness, the resentment seeping into her words. She clenched her fists, the frustration of their predicament bubbling to the surface.

"Believe me, just the thought of working with you turns my stomachs," Krell muttered, a flicker of disgust crossing his face. His sharp features twisted in a grimace, as though the very idea repulsed him.

"Stomachs?" Piper echoed, raising an eyebrow. The single word hung in the air, a mix of curiosity and disbelief coloring her tone.

"But," Krell continued, ignoring the interruption, "right now I'm more interested in killing Belthazor and his sister Nyxara than dealing with witches." His focus sharpened, the predatory gleam in his eyes betraying his deadly intentions.

"Sister?" Prue repeated, her interest piqued. The revelation added a new layer to the already complex web they were entangled in.

"Yes, sister," Krell confirmed. "She was born five years before him. Because of his betrayal, the Source has ordered she be killed as well. Of course, I would kill her anyway since she straddles the fence between good and evil." His voice dripped with a lethal resolve, the words leaving no room for doubt.

"How does a demon straddle the fence between good and evil?" Piper asked, skepticism lacing her voice. She crossed her arms, the defensive posture underscoring her disbelief.

"Simple," Krell explained, his tone exuding a cold logic. "Nyxara is half-human, like her brother. Her human side was called as the Slayer, which is a champion for the forces of good." His explanation hung in the air, the complexity of their enemies becoming increasingly clear.

Prue's mind raced, trying to piece together the implications of Krell's revelation. The dim light of the room cast shadows across her face, deepening the lines of worry etched into her features. She drew a deep breath, steadying herself against the storm of emotions swirling inside her.

"So, this Nyxara," Prue began, her voice measured as she fought to keep her composure, "is she as dangerous as Belthazor?"

Krell's eyes narrowed, considering the question. "In some ways, she's more dangerous. Her dual nature gives her access to powers most demons can only dream of. She's unpredictable, capable of immense good and profound evil."

Piper uncrossed her arms and leaned forward; her expression intense. "And she's been ordered to be killed by the Source because of Belthazor's betrayal?"

"Yes," Krell said, his voice steady and unwavering. "Like it or not, we need each other. You can't find Belthazor or Nyxara without me, and I can't vanquish them without your potion."

"Our potion would work on her since they share the same blood," Prue said, realization dawning on her. Her eyes narrowed with determination as she considered the implications.

"So, you know where they are?" Prue pressed, her voice firm with urgency.

"Prue, you can't be seriously considering this," Piper interjected, her voice tinged with concern and disbelief.

"Answer the question," Prue insisted, locking eyes with Krell.

"I can track Belthazor's scent, his blood, when he's in his demonic form, not his human one," Krell explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "He is actually easier to track than his sister is, as he can't maintain his human self for long when wounded. It drains him. And there is a possibility that Nyxara will be with him, trying to protect him."

"Uh, hi, could you two come here, over here, please?" Piper interrupted, pulling Prue aside for a more private conversation. "We've tried working with demons before; it was a bad idea then. And it's definitely a bad idea now."

"We'll let you know," Prue said, her gaze unwavering as she turned back to face Krell.

"No, you'll let me know now," Krell insisted, his tone sharp and commanding. He fixed them with a penetrating stare. "Think fast. Belthazor won't stop trying to kill you. Only the heads of the Charmed Ones will convince the Source to spare him and Nyxara." With that, he shimmered out of sight, leaving a tense silence in his wake.

"Leo!" Prue and Piper called out in unison, their voices echoing through the room in urgency and desperation.

Cole's Apartment

Phoebe stood outside Cole's apartment door, her knuckles rapping gently against the wood. "Cole? Cole, are you in there?" Her voice carried a note of concern, echoing slightly in the quiet hallway. A nearby neighbor, curious at the disturbance, poked her head out from a neighboring apartment.

"Oh, sorry," Phoebe apologized softly as the neighbor withdrew, closing her door again.

As Phoebe glanced down, her eyes caught on something unsettling: drops of blood staining the beige carpet, leading a trail towards Cole's apartment. Her heart quickened with worry as she reached for the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked. With a hesitant push, she eased the door open. "Cole? Hello?"

Silence greeted her, broken only by the faint hum of the city beyond. She stepped inside, the floor cool beneath her feet, and immediately noticed more drops of blood leading down the hallway, disappearing into the bathroom. A flicker of dread passed through her, her pace quickening involuntarily.

"Cole?" Phoebe called out softly, her voice a mix of relief and concern as she moved closer to the bathroom door, her gaze fixing on Cole's figure as she pushed the door open. She saw him there, hastily pulling on a shirt, his expression tight with discomfort as he tended to a wound.

"You really shouldn't be here," Cole muttered, his voice low and strained, betraying a mixture of emotions that Phoebe couldn't quite decipher amidst the tension.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Phoebe guided Cole with gentle insistence into his dimly lit bedroom, her voice a soothing murmur in the tense air. "Okay, Cole. Come on, lay down," she encouraged, guiding him gently onto the bed. "Lay down. Easy. Are you okay?"

"Do I look okay?" Cole retorted, his voice strained with pain and frustration.

"I'm sorry. Okay, let's see how bad this is," Phoebe said softly, her concern evident as she moved to inspect his wound.

"No, no, don't," Cole protested urgently, his hand reaching out to stop her.

"Believe me, I've seen worse, Cole," Phoebe reassured him gently, attempting to ease his anxiety as she attempted to remove the bandage.

"I said don't. Please," Cole insisted, his grip tightening on Phoebe's hand.

"We've got to get you to the hospital," Phoebe urged, her voice tinged with urgency.

"It's not safe there, they'll find me," Cole replied, his words laced with fear and apprehension.

"Who will find you?" Phoebe pressed, her brow furrowing with concern. "What's going on? Who's after you? There was somebody looking for you today at your office. An investigator."

Cole sat up slowly, his expression fraught with concern as he fixed Phoebe with a piercing gaze. "You didn't tell him anything, did you?"

"I don't know anything," Phoebe replied honestly, her voice tinged with frustration at her own lack of answers.

"What did he look like? You sure he wasn't a de—A?" Cole asked, catching himself just before the word 'demon' slipped out.

"He said that he was. And he also said that he needed to…" Phoebe began, but Cole's groan cut her off mid-sentence. She moved swiftly to ease him back down onto the bed. "Okay, come on, back down, back down," she urged gently, her hands guiding him until he settled once more.

"I'm gonna go get some help, okay?" Phoebe assured him, her tone determined as she prepared to leave his side momentarily. She leaned in closer, whispering low enough that Cole couldn't hear. "Leo?"

"Phoebe, come on," Cole protested weakly, his concern for her safety evident in his voice.

"Cole, I am not just gonna sit back and watch you die, okay?" Phoebe insisted firmly, her resolve unwavering as she met his gaze. "I'm gonna go back to the house, okay, and I'm gonna get Leo. He's a doctor, he can heal you."

"Okay," Cole agreed quietly, his voice tinged with relief at the prospect of help arriving soon.

"Are you sure it's safe for you here?" Phoebe asked, pausing near the doorway with concern etched on her features.

"They've already looked for me here, they won't be back. Not for a while anyway," Cole reassured her, his words carrying a hint of resignation.

Without a word, she leaned in and kissed him gently, a silent promise lingering in the touch of their lips. "You'd better be here when I get back," she murmured softly, her voice laced with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

She turned away from Cole, stepping out into the dimly lit hallway. Unaware of the transformation occurring behind her, Phoebe pulled out her cell phone, a sense of relief washing over her as she remembered bumping into Buffy earlier at Cole's office, securing her phone number. She dialed quickly, her fingers trembling slightly with urgency.

"Hello?" Buffy's voice came through the line, filled with readiness and concern. "Giles?"

"It's Phoebe Halliwell," Phoebe replied swiftly, her words rushed with a need for action. "I found Cole. He's at his apartment."

"Is he okay?" Buffy's question was quick and to the point, reflecting her own concern for her brother.

"No," Phoebe admitted quietly, her voice tightening with worry. "He has a wound. He refused to go to the hospital, so I'm going to get my brother-in-law, he's a doctor."

"Okay, I'm near the apartment, I will keep watch till you get back," Buffy assured her without hesitation, her voice firm with determination.

Phoebe nodded, though Buffy couldn't see it over the phone. "Thank you, Buffy. We'll be back soon."

Ending the call, Phoebe hurried down the hallway, her steps quick and purposeful. Behind her, unnoticed, Cole's form shifted subtly from human to demonic and back again, the weight of his hidden identity adding a layer of complexity to the already precarious situation.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Buffy shimmered into Cole's modest apartment, the air crackling with the residual energy of her arrival. She strode purposefully through the living room, her expression a mix of concern and determination. Pushing open the door to Cole's bedroom, she found him lying on the bed, his face etched with fatigue and a hint of guilt.

"Cole Benjamin Turner," Buffy greeted sternly, her eyes locking onto her younger brother. Despite the gravity of the situation, there was a flicker of familial concern in her gaze. "What's going on? Triggs found me in Sunnydale. He said the Source wants you dead, and me too if I don't turn you over."

Cole met Buffy's gaze with resignation, his shoulders sagging as he admitted quietly, "I killed the Triad."

Buffy's expression hardened slightly at his confession, her mind racing with the implications of his actions. She moved closer to him, her voice softer now, tinged with both empathy and urgency. "Cole, why? Killing the Triad… that's a death sentence."

"I know it is, Elizabeth," Cole said with a solemn nod, his voice tinged with a mix of regret and resolve. He sat on the edge of the bed in his dimly lit apartment, his gaze meeting his sister's with a steady intensity. "But I made a choice. I chose Phoebe over my assignment. I chose love."

Buffy's expression softened slightly at his words, understanding the weight of his decision. She moved closer, her hand resting on his shoulder in a gesture of support. "Cole, I get it."

Cole nodded gratefully, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air between them. "Since I failed to kill the Charmed Ones," he continued, his voice tightening with emotion, "the Triad was going to kill me. And then summon you and kill you as well."

Buffy's eyes widened in disbelief at the intricate web of events Cole described, her mind grappling with the complexity of his confession. The Triad's schemes were notorious, but hearing firsthand how they had manipulated Cole and put him at odds with Phoebe and her sisters struck a chord of anger and concern within her.

"Damn it, Cole," Buffy muttered under her breath, her frustration palpable as she paced a few steps across the room. "We'll need to figure something out fast."

"We'll think of something," Cole reassured her, his voice calm despite the urgency of their situation. "But for now, Phoebe is going to her Whitelighter in hopes he can heal my wound."

Buffy nodded slowly, her brow furrowing with worry. "How did you get it anyways?" she asked, her curiosity tinged with a mix of disbelief and sympathy.

"Phoebe and her sisters gave it to me," Cole explained, his voice tinged with remorse. "I had sent Andras to enrage them so they would lose their powers. It had worked. Phoebe came over seeking comfort after the argument with her sisters. I was all set to kill her then, but I couldn't. I love her too much. So after I sent her back to her sisters to patch things up, Andras showed up and possessed me. He then took me in my demonic form to the Halliwell's home intending to kill them. After a brief fight with the Charmed Ones Andras was knocked out of me and I vanquished him. Then the Charmed Ones attacked me and they got a slice of my flesh for a vanquishing potion."

"Cole," Buffy said with a shake of her head, her expression torn between understanding and frustration. "So she is going to get her Whitelighter to heal you after she and her sisters injured you."

"That's right," Cole affirmed, his voice tinged with urgency. "Please, you have to protect them while they are here. If a bounty hunter shows up."

Buffy's brow furrowed deeply as she struggled to reconcile her conflicting emotions. "You know that since I am half-Slayer, that I am also half-good. Which means I would do it normally in a heartbeat. But why would I protect the woman that injured you?" Her tone was laced with genuine confusion and a hint of disbelief.

Cole met Buffy's gaze steadily, his eyes reflecting a mix of pain and unwavering love. "Because she's not just any woman, Buffy," he replied softly, his voice carrying the weight of their shared history. "Phoebe… she's my everything. Despite everything that's happened, I can't turn my back on her. And I know you, Buffy. I know you would do anything to protect family, even when it's complicated."

Buffy sighed heavily, the weight of Cole's words sinking in. She understood the power of love and loyalty, even in the face of betrayal or hurt. "You're right," she conceded finally, her voice tinged with resignation.

Summers Home

Xander and Cordelia were parked in front of Buffy's house, their conversation punctuated by Cordelia's sharp tone that cut through the tranquility of the day.

"I can't even believe you," Cordelia's voice rang out, filled with exasperation. "What am I, mass transportation?"

Xander, undeterred, knocked loudly on the front door. "That's what a lot of the guys say. But it's just locker-room talk. I never pay it any mind."

"Great. So now I'm your taxi and your punching bag," Cordelia retorted, her frustration evident.

"I like to think of you more as my witless foil, but have it your way." Finding the front door locked, Xander pivoted to search for alternative entry points, moving towards the windows. "Come on, Cordy. You can't be a member of the Scooby Gang if you aren't willing to be inconvenienced now and then."

As Xander worked to unlatch a window, Cordelia rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, right," she scoffed. "'Cause I lie awake at night hoping you tweekos will be my best friends. And that my first husband will be a balding, demented, homeless man—"

Her tirade was interrupted as Xander successfully unlatched the window and climbed inside. Cordelia followed suit, her irritation simmering as they entered Buffy's living room.

"Buffy's brother, Cole, could be in trouble," Xander stated, his tone serious and focused.

"And what, exactly, are you going to do about it if he is?" Cordelia shot back, her skepticism evident as she scanned the room with a practiced eye. "If you hadn't noticed—you're the lameness. Buffy's the half-demon superchick or whatever."

"At least I'm lameness that cares. Which is more than you can say." Xander's words hung in the air as he turned away from Cordelia, determination marking his every step towards the stairs. "I'm going to check upstairs."

Pouting, Cordelia remained behind in Buffy's living room. She let out an exasperated sigh and started to take another quick inventory of the surroundings when a sudden knock on the front door startled her.

Glancing through the window at the top of the door, Cordelia spotted a bland, balding man in a suit holding a briefcase, which he lifted to show her the label 'Blush Beautiful Skin Care.'

Cordelia hesitated for a moment, weighing the stranger's offer against the rules of propriety. This wasn't even her house, but the lure of free samples proved too tempting to resist. She opened the door promptly.

"Good day," the man greeted her politely. "I am Norman Pfister with Blush Beautiful Skin Care and Cosmetics. I was wondering if I might interest you in some free samples?"

"Free?" Cordelia echoed; her skepticism momentarily overridden by the allure of beauty products. She glanced over her shoulder, half-expecting Xander or someone else to intervene, but the coast was clear. She stepped aside, gesturing for Mr. Pfister to enter, and then closed the door behind him.

Halliwell Manor

"I don't understand," said Piper, her frustration evident as she paced the attic of the Manor. "How can you not know the Triad is dead? Don't you think that's kind of important? Especially since, oh, I don't know, they've been trying to kill us for the past two years."

"They heard rumors, talk, nothing substantiated," Leo admitted reluctantly, his expression betraying a hint of remorse.

"Well, I guess you can substantiate it now, can't you?" Piper retorted sharply. "Geez, have you been sleeping on the job or what?"

"So, Leo, don't mind her, she's just a little cranky," Prue interjected calmly, attempting to diffuse the tension as she studied the Book of Shadows.

"You know what?" Piper shot back, her voice tinged with irritation. "I get that way when demons are trying to kill us."

"Piper, I really don't think that Krell is trying to kill us, otherwise he probably would've tried by now," Prue reasoned, her tone measured.

"Oh, yeah?" Piper challenged. "Tell that to the dining room table."

Leo, sensing the escalating tension, intervened with a question to steer the conversation back to a more productive path. "Is there anything in there on Zotars?" he asked, referring to the Book of Shadows.

Prue nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, everything that he said about them, which makes me think that everything else he has said might be true too."

"Including the part about how he likes to kill witches?" Piper's voice was sharp, cutting through the tension in the attic.

"Including the part about all of us working together," Prue affirmed, her gaze steady.

"Are you willing to bet our lives on it?" Piper pressed, her concern palpable.

"Are you willing not to?" Prue countered, her tone firm. "Look, Piper, if we do nothing and Belthazor somehow gets all of his powers back, then we are going to be looking back over our shoulders. Again. Personally, I'm tired of that."

Piper sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping in reluctant agreement. "I know, I know, okay," she conceded, her eyes shifting toward Leo. "I-I know you think they're right and…"

"If you don't vanquish him now, you may not get another chance," Leo interjected, his voice grave with the weight of their predicament.

"Leo," Prue turned to face the Whitelighter, her expression serious and intent. "What do you know about the Slayer?"

Leo furrowed his brow in thought. "That they can be a powerful force for good, why?" he replied cautiously.

"Krell said that Belthazor's sister was like Belthazor, half-human, half-demon. And that her human half had called her as a Slayer," Prue explained, her voice tinged with concern.

Leo's expression tightened with understanding, his mind racing through the implications of Prue's revelation. "A Slayer born of both worlds," he mused aloud, his voice tinged with concern. "That could make her exceptionally dangerous, capable of wielding both light and dark forces. But it could also make her a valuable ally depending on which side of her is dominant. If it's her demon half, she will be exceptionally dangerous, more so than Belthazor. But if the Slayer half is the more dominant side, then she could be a powerful ally."

His words hung heavily in the attic, the gravity of the situation sinking in for Prue and Piper. They exchanged wary glances, realizing the precariousness of their position. The prospect of facing an adversary with such dual potential—both formidable enemy and potential ally—added a layer of complexity to their mission.

"So, what do we do now?" Piper asked, her voice edged with uncertainty.

Prue glanced at Leo, her eyes searching his thoughtful expression for any glimmer of insight. "Leo, do you think there's any way to discern which side of her is more dominant? Anything in the Book of Shadows?"

Leo considered her question carefully, his mind flickering through the countless pages of mystical lore he had studied over the years. "There might be," he began cautiously, his voice measured. "The Book of Shadows contains spells and rituals that can sometimes reveal the nature of a being's soul. There's a ritual of clarity that might help us see into the core of her being, to understand where her allegiances truly lie."

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Leo stood in the conservatory, his eyes focused intently on Prue and Piper as they began the incantation. The air around them seemed to thrum with energy, a palpable force building as they recited the words of the spell. "Magic forces black and white, reaching out through space and light, be he far or be he near, bring us the demon Belthazor here." Their voices harmonized; the power of their intent woven into every syllable.

As the final words left their lips, a swirl of mystical energy enveloped the room. In an instant, Krell materialized in the foyer, his sudden presence startling Phoebe, who had just walked into the house. Her instincts kicked in immediately. "Demon!" she shouted, her voice echoing with urgency as she sprinted towards Krell.

"Phoebe, no! No, no, Phoebe!" Piper's voice rang out, laden with alarm, but it was too late. Phoebe launched herself at Krell, delivering a swift, powerful kick to his head, sending him staggering back.

"What-what is going on?" Phoebe demanded, her breath coming in sharp gasps as she braced herself for another attack. Leo, Prue, and Piper hurried to her side, forming a protective circle around Krell.

"He is a demonic bounty hunter who is here to help us find Belthazor," Prue explained, her tone firm but reassuring.

"Why don't you go sniff something while we fill her in," Piper snapped at Krell, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"There's no time," Krell interjected urgently. "I just picked up Belthazor's scent again."

"Alright, give us a minute," Prue commanded, her eyes narrowing as she pulled Phoebe aside. "Come here. All right, listen, here's the deal. Belthazor killed the Triad. Now the Source wants him dead. Krell is trying to suck up to the Source, so he wants to kill Belthazor and his sister."

"Sister?" Phoebe repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"Later," Piper said impatiently. "Belthazor wants to kill us so the Source won't kill him and his sister."

"And if you work with Krell, you can vanquish Belthazor before he kills you," finished Leo, his voice firm with conviction.

"Works for me," Phoebe said, though her tone was laced with unease. "Leo, I have to talk to you for a minute," she added, her eyes pleading.

Krell rolled his eyes in exasperation. "How do you witches ever get anything done?" he asked, his impatience evident. "If we're working together, we need to move now."

"Alright, we're ready," said Prue, her voice resolute.

"Do you have the potion?" Krell asked, his gaze sharp as it flicked between the sisters.

"Do you have the scent?" Piper countered; her tone equally pointed.

"I said I did, didn't I?" Krell retorted, pointing decisively at Prue and Piper. "You two come with me. The others should go to the old cemetery."

"Wait, split up? Why?" Leo interjected, his brow furrowing with concern.

"Because Belthazor and Nyxara might be hiding there, that's why," Krell explained, his voice dripping with impatience. "Evil frequents cemeteries. It makes it difficult for me to track a demon's scent there. Belthazor and Nyxara know that."

"Okay, so why don't Leo and I go to the cemetery and you guys go with him," Phoebe suggested, her tone firm and unwavering.

Piper looked at her sister with a mix of concern and hesitation. "Are you sure?" she asked, searching Phoebe's face for any signs of doubt.

"Positive," Phoebe replied, her voice resolute. She glanced at Leo, who nodded in agreement, ready to follow her lead.

"Alright, let's go, we're ready," Prue said, her eyes flashing with determination. She paused for a moment, as if remembering something important. "Oh, hey, I almost forgot to ask. Did you find out anything about Cole?"

Phoebe's heart skipped a beat, but she quickly composed herself. "Uh, no, nothing at all about Cole," she lied smoothly, her face betraying no hint of the turmoil inside. She watched as Prue, Piper, and Krell left, their footsteps echoing through the Manor. Once they were alone, Phoebe turned to Leo, her expression shifting to one of urgency. "We need to go," she said, her voice low and intense.

Summers Home

"Do you have this in raisin?" Cordelia held a lipstick out to Mr. Pfister, her tone dripping with her usual blend of disdain and expectation. "I know you wouldn't think so, but I'm both a winter and a summer—" She broke off, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the odd little salesman. He stood there beside his open satchel of cosmetics and creams, staring at her with an unnervingly fixed expression. His gaze was unblinking and hollow, sending chills down her spine. She took an involuntary step back, feeling a shiver of unease.

"Nine ninety-nine," Mr. Pfister spoke at last, his voice flat and mechanical. "Tax included."

"You—you said that already," Cordelia reminded him, her voice tinged with irritation and mounting anxiety. "Do you have anything in the berry family?"

The salesman remained silent, his unnerving stare never wavering. He simply took the lipstick from her hand and dropped it back into his bag. "Are there more ladies in the house?" he asked, his tone polite but his demeanor increasingly sinister.

"They aren't home," Cordelia replied quickly, her nerves fraying under his relentless gaze. Everything about him screamed danger. "Nothing personal," she added, attempting to mask her fear with sarcasm, "but maybe you should look into selling dictionaries." She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes widening in horror as a single, slimy worm emerged from under his coat. It wriggled across the floor, leaving a slick trail behind it. Cordelia gasped, backing away in revulsion and terror. She glanced back at Mr. Pfister, who remained disturbingly impassive.

At that moment, Xander came down the stairs, his carefree demeanor contrasting sharply with the tension in the room. "Hey," he said amiably, completely oblivious to the danger. "What's up?"

Cordelia seized Xander's arm with a vice-like grip. "He's a… salesman," she babbled, her voice frantic. "But he was just leaving." She positioned herself behind Xander, seeking protection. "Right?" she added, her voice trembling.

The salesman stood there, unmoving, his cold eyes fixed on them.

"Okay," Cordelia continued, her voice rising in pitch. "Bye-bye. Thanks."

Nothing. Xander moved to hustle him out. "Come on, Mary Kay. Time to—"

But as Xander approached him, Mr. Pfister's face began to ripple. To slither and squirm in the most hideous way, as though there were creepy crawly things under his skin. Xander was appalled. He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. "Time to . . ." He turned to Cordelia. His voice remained calm. "Run."

Mr. Pfister was standing between them and the front door. As the two of them bolted in the other direction, the little salesman suddenly began to shift, his human form falling away as he decomposed into thousands of slimy worms. The worms immediately streamed after Xander and Cordelia, moving with an unnerving, almost purposeful speed.

The twosome ran past the stairs for the back door, but now Mr. Pfister had reformed as a human and was blocking their path. His beady eyes glinted with malicious intent, making it clear that he was toying with them. With no other options, they ducked into the cellar, bolting the door behind them. At once, worms began flowing through the crack underneath, a writhing mass of horror that made Cordelia's skin crawl.

Cordelia screamed in panic, her voice echoing in the confined space. Xander grabbed an old broom and attempted to beat them off. "Find something to block the crack under the door!" he shouted; his voice tinged with desperation.

Frantically, Cordelia began to search, her heart pounding in her chest. She could feel the cold, slimy bodies of worms crawling over her shoes and legs, and she screamed again, trying to brush them off with frenzied motions. Her eyes darted around the cluttered cellar until at last, she spotted a roll of duct tape on a shelf. She grabbed it and shoved it at Xander. "I—I don't—do worms," she shuddered, her face pale with fear and disgust.

Xander shoved the broom back at her. "Cover me," he instructed, his tone urgent but steady.

Grimacing, Cordelia took the broom and tried to fend off the relentless tide of worms. Meanwhile, Xander quickly ran some tape around the cracks in the door, his fingers working with swift precision. He could feel the worms pressing against the tape, trying to force their way through. When the door was finally secure, the two of them finished off the rest of the worms that had made it through, their breathing heavy with exertion and fear.

They waited, tense and silent, to see if the tape would hold. To their relief, nothing came in. For the moment, at least, the worms seemed thwarted. The air was thick with the stench of decay and the remnants of their frantic struggle.

Descending further into the basement, Xander realized then that the door was their only way out. There were no windows down here… no other possible exits. The weight of their situation pressed heavily on his shoulders. He scowled and plopped down in a rickety old chair. "You know," he said disgustedly, wiping sweat from his brow, "just when you think you've seen it all. Along comes a worm guy."