Chapter Two
As Buffy stirred from her slumber, a wave of awareness washed over her—she was not in her usual comfy bed. She opened her eyes fully, and the memories of the past twenty-four hours surged back, bringing with them the harsh reality of her current predicament. Every fiber of her body throbbed, a reminder of the exhaustion she was reluctant to confront. She lifted her arms above her head, stretching them to coax some relief from the discomfort that clung to her like a shadow. Looking around, she realized that the soft golden light streaming through the window indicated it was late afternoon.
She sat up and her gaze fell upon a neatly arranged pile of clothes on the antique dresser. She carefully picked them up and inspected the unpleasant wardrobe. It occurred to her that Marius must have thoughtfully set them out for her, anticipating her needs.
A warm smile spread across her face at the thought of expressing her gratitude. However, another pressing question lingered in her mind—how did people bathe in this era? She could practically feel the discomfort of not having showered in what felt like days, and the idea of freshening up was becoming increasingly urgent. Determined, she left her room to ask Marius just that.
Marius kindly filled the spacious washbasin in the middle of the bathroom with steaming hot water. The gentle scent of vanilla filled the air as he carefully arranged an array of hygiene products nearby. After ensuring everything was perfectly in place, he turned to her with a warm smile and let her know that he would soon be preparing food. With that, he quietly stepped out, giving her the privacy she needed.
Buffy cast a curious glance at the items he had arranged for her, intrigue flickering in her eyes. She walked over and picked them up. In her right hand, she held a bar that resembled a rustic slab of soap, its surface smooth yet slightly uneven. Bringing it closer, she inhaled its fragrance. To her surprise, the wafting aroma was not unpleasant; instead, it enveloped her senses with a warm blend of rich vanilla oils that felt sweet and comforting. She wondered if he had made a special trip to the market that very morning, selecting this fragrance just for her.
In her left hand, she examined a weathered stick resembling a toothbrush, unused and frayed at the edges, alongside a small tube of fine powder.
Not wanting the water to turn cold, she undressed and stepped into the washbasin. She grabbed a sponge, its texture rough against her palm, and began to scrub away the remnants of dirt and grime clinging to her skin. The soap made the task more bearable, but she still yearned for modern-day shampoo and conditioner for her hair. She quickly worked the soap into her scalp, then dipped her head beneath the hot water, allowing it to cascade over her and wash away the greasiness. Once she was satisfied with her efforts and felt refreshed, she rose from the basin and wrapped herself in a towel, droplets of water still clinging to her skin.
She walked toward the sink, her gaze falling upon the frayed stick resting on the counter, its surface rough and splintered. She hesitated, scrutinizing its jagged edges and brittle texture, weighing the decision of whether to place it in her mouth. It looked like a total health hazard. It didn't seem like the safest option, but she knew she had little choice if she wanted clean teeth. With a resigned sigh, she picked up the stick, carefully brushing the powder onto its surface. The sharp points grazed her gums, drawing a few flecks of crimson blood, but she pressed on, persevering until her teeth felt more like themselves—clean and free.
Next on her list of morning rituals was the hairbrush, which she grasped with her right hand. She worked it through her long, tangled hair, each stroke releasing a cascade of loose strands that floated gently to the floor. A wave of frustration washed over her as she caught a glimpse of the clothes Marius had provided. The garments were hideous—an unappealing mishmash of colors and styles that no one of her standards would ever consider wearing. She begrudgingly slipped into the pants, feeling the fabric cling uncomfortably to her legs. The stark white tunic hung loosely on her frame, an unflattering contrast that only heightened her discontent. Finally, she reached for the simple shoes—practical yet dull. While she appreciated having clean clothes, she longed for her stylish yet affordable outfits from home.
Whenever she had the chance, she would visit the village market in search of something cuter to wear. Butas she stood in the middle of the bathroom, she shook her head with a hint of resignation. She reminded herself that, despite the temptation of finding something stylish, her main priority was elsewhere. She needed to figure out a way to get home. What she wore while doing that shouldn't matter—besides, she had no money.
She hurriedly devoured the leftover bean stew that Marius had carefully reheated for their meal, gulping down her water as she ate. A twinge of shame washed over her as she hastily stuffed the food into her mouth, feeling impolite in her haste. But her overwhelming hunger gnawed at her. It felt like an eternity had passed since she last enjoyed a satisfying meal, even though she had eaten just the night before.
Marius kindly refrained from commenting on her table manners and continued to pick at his bread, dipping it into his soup.
"I would like to explore the village," Buffy said after finishing her meal. "Does anyone else here speak English or is it just you?"
"Well, I speak English due to special circumstances," Marius replied. "Most people don't, but both the owners of the food and clothing market speak some."
Buffy considered this. It was better than nothing. She wasn't sure how often she would need to communicate with the townspeople anyway.
"That makes sense," she said.
Their conversation took a more personal turn when Buffy asked Marius about how he came to learn English. Marius began to share his life story, explaining that he grew up in an orphanage and was forced to learn several different languages. His father was English, while his mother was his father's mistress. They had an affair, but his father did not want anyone to know, so he sent her back to her home country of Romania, where she gave birth to Marius. Tragically, she had died from consumption when he was six. Marius noted that while his first name was a traditional Romanian name, his last name was that of his father.
Buffy felt a pang of compassion as she looked at him, relating somewhat to the experience of having a deadbeat father. Fortunately for her, she still had her mother to fulfill both parental roles. But Marius had to grow up without either of his parents, relying solely on the people at the orphanage for familiarity.
Later that day, Buffy decided it was finally time to explore the village. After all, she was in Romania and was almost certain she could find something here to help her return home. The country was known for its supernatural activity; maybe there was a witch nearby or something similar. She couldn't stay at the cottage forever, and besides, distractions were good. Especially if they were of the productive variety. And at least being stuck in that past finally dispelled the Parker-related funk she'd been living in for the past week.
Marius gave Buffy a black coat to wear as she headed towards the door and gave her directions to the town center. Buffy just hoped she would remember everything he told her.
He spoke again just as she was about to walk out the door.
"Be safe, and please be back before dark."
Buffy frowned. That sounded rather suspicious. The first thought that crossed her mind was whether he knew about vampires. She quickly dismissed the idea. He was just a concerned man looking out for her well-being, given that she was a woman in a foreign country who couldn't speak the language.
"I'll be back before then," she reassured him before stepping out and heading towards the village.
It was a cloudy day, and the ground was still wet from the rain that had fallen overnight. Water splashed beneath her feet with each step she took. After a few wrong turns, she finally arrived at the center of the village. Despite the dreary weather, many people were outside, chatting and working. She felt uncertain about where to begin. Did any of them know about magic or vampires? And even if she did find a witch, could Buffy even trust her?
She could always do the spell herself. She had done spells before. Or, okay, maybe not so much with the done and more with the watched. The few times she'd watched Giles or Willow do spells; they'd always make it look easy peasy. With her luck, she would accidentally send herself to a Hell dimension. Perhaps she could find a book titled Spells for Dummies?
She walked through the small village and spotted a clothing market ahead. Perhaps she would start her search there. Upon entering the shop and looking around, she quickly realized that her outfit was way better than what the store had to offer. She preferred simplicity over the clash of colors that the shirts presented. Holding one up to her face, she grimaced, thinking she'd rather be caught dead than wear something like that. She set the shirt back down and continued her exploration of the town.
The food market didn't provide much for her to explore; after all, it was just a food place. What truly intrigued her was the owner of the market, who spoke English. Maybe Buffy could ask them if anyone in the village practiced witchcraft or something similar. She wanted to ask Marius but had hesitated, fearing he might think she was crazy. She didn't want to jeopardize her free food and shelter.
It felt strange to be entirely on her own for this—worse than her first week of college because, at least then, there had been people around if she truly needed them. Since landing in this foreign country, a tiny part of her had been in constant panic mode. Spells and Buffy were not her domain. You couldn't hit a spell over the head or stake it. Usually, Giles and Willow were the ones who dealt with magical problems or, at the very least, told her how to handle them. But Giles and Willow weren't here and probably didn't even know what had happened. Unfortunately for her, for the first time since being Called, she was truly on her own when it came to fixing this mess.
Buffy approached the stand filled with an array of colorful produce, her heart racing with trepidation. The owner, a middle-aged woman with weary eyes and a stern demeanor, stood behind the counter, arranging fresh herbs and fruits. "Hi!" Buffy said, letting a gentle smile spread across her face as she waved her hand gracefully. "My name is Bu—um, Elizabeth."
The short lady with chestnut brown hair scrutinized her from head to toe, her eyebrows arching in mild surprise. It was clear that Americans were a rarity in this quaint little town.
"Good day," she replied, her voice tinged with fatigue as she leaned slightly on the polished wooden table. Like Marius, she spoke with a heavy accent, but her English was much more precise than his. "How can I assist you?"
"Well, you see, I'm sorta new in town and was wondering if you know anyone here who might be into—" she hesitated, weighing her words carefully before opting for candor. "Magic." There was no sense in tiptoeing around; the sooner she found a way back to her world, the better. Besides, the opinions of the locals held little weight for her.
The woman's expression shifted to one of intrigue mixed with caution, and she leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "What makes you ask about that?"
"Uhhh," she hesitated, her mind racing as she sought the right words. "I'm new to witchcraft and wanted to find a mentor who could help teach me or anyone you think might know it."
She inhaled sharply and held her breath, anticipation coursing through her. In the worst-case scenario, the woman would dismiss her entirely, shooing her away like an annoying fly.
Instead, the woman burst into laughter, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, you are quite the comedian, my dear," she replied with a hint of playful sarcasm. "But I'm afraid magic isn't real. You are on your own."
Buffy felt her heart sink as her shoulders drooped in defeat. "Oh… okay," she murmured, trying to mask her disappointment with a weak smile. "No worries, thanks anyway." Turning on her heel, she exited the bustling market, feeling a cloud of discouragement settling over her.
The chill in the air prompted her to clutch her coat tighter around her frame, the fabric brushing against her skin as she huddled against the biting wind. She glanced upward, her eyes tracing the hues of the sky as the sun began its descent, painting the canvas of evening with fiery oranges and soft purples. She had promised Marius she would return before dark.
Just as she was about to retrace her steps, eager to make it back in time, she heard a whispering noise, stirring her curiosity. The sound weaved itself through the air, beckoning her to explore further.
"Ssspshhh."
Buffy paused and stepped back a few paces, her ears straining to identify the source of the faint sound that had caught her attention. After a moment's search, she discovered its origin: nestled behind a weathered wooden barrel brimming with bright red apples, a young boy, no older than fifteen, emerged.
"Hi there," Buffy greeted him with a friendly wave.
"You must be new around here," the boy replied, his tone friendly as he stepped out from his concealed spot. "We do not get many English speakers in these parts."
"I can tell," she muttered under her breath.
The boy extended his hand, a proud smile breaking across his face. "My name is Adrian."
"I'm Elizabeth," Buffy replied warmly, shaking his hand firmly. "It's nice to meet you."
"Likewise," Adrian responded, his dark hair catching the sunlight as he tilted his head.
Buffy glanced toward the entrance of the food market, where the owner was rearranging fruit inside. "I assume you overheard my rather unwelcoming conversation with the woman in there?" she said, crossing her arms in mild frustration. "She wasn't exactly the friendliest person."
Adrian's expression shifted slightly, a hint of discomfort flickering in his eyes. "My mother can be plain-spoken often, especially towards foreigners," he admitted, glancing downward.
Realizing her words might have struck a nerve, Buffy's eyes widened in the realization that she had unintentionally insulted his family. "Oh no, I didn't mean to offend—" she started, her voice laced with concern. "I just meant she seemed a bit... standoffish."
"It is all right," Adrian interjected, calm and reassuring. "I understand."
Buffy glanced around, taking in the quaint village square with its cobblestone paths and cottages, before leaning in closer and whispering, "So, you wouldn't happen to know anyone here who might be into magic, would you?"
Adrian paused, his brow furrowing in contemplation. "Well, there is that strange old woman who lives just two blocks down near the edge of the forest," he replied, his tone laced with caution. "Most of the villagers tend to steer clear of her."
"Oh, why is that?" Buffy inquired; her curiosity piqued.
Adrian rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's just say she has a reputation for being a bit... unusual. You could try to speak to her, but I cannot guarantee she would be much help."
For Buffy, however, unusual was exactly what she was looking for at that moment.
"Don't worry; unusual is basically my area of expertise," she said with a grin, her excitement palpable. "Thanks for the tip; you're a total lifesaver."
Adrian looked at her quizzically as if weighing her words but ultimately nodded in agreement. "I should head back inside soon; it will be dark before long, and my mother will start to worry."
With a friendly wave, Adrian turned and walked back into the food shop, leaving her standing in the fading light.
Buffy pivoted sharply on her heel, her boots crunching softly against the gravel path as she walked toward the dense, shadowy outline of the forest that loomed at the edge of the village. The air was thick with the scents of pine and damp earth, a stark contrast to the smell of livestock coming from the town center. Locating the witch's dwelling was easy; the property was unmistakable, adorned with an array of weathered crosses protruding from the ground and intricate swirling runes etched into its heavy wooden door.
As she approached the door, the creaking planks of the porch groaned beneath her weight. With a hesitant hand, she reached out and rapped her knuckles against the sturdy door—once, twice, thrice—her heart racing with anticipation. Taking a steadying breath, she focused on the quiet surrounding her, punctuated only by the distant rustling of leaves. Moments stretched into what felt like an eternity, and as silence filled the space, a growing unease churned in her stomach.
After several minutes without an answer, curiosity drew her to the nearby windows. She stepped lightly, careful to avoid making noise, and leaned closer, peering through the grimy glass. The interior was shrouded in shadow, the only light coming from flickering candles that cast dancing shapes upon the walls. Buffy felt a twinge of guilt as she invaded the person's privacy, yet the desperation to return home pushed the weight of her morals aside.
Her squinted gaze sought any signs of life within the darkened room when—out of nowhere—a ghostly face suddenly materialized, staring back at her through the window. Startled, Buffy stumbled back, her breath hitching as she clutched her chest, feeling her heart race like a drumbeat. The apparition vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her breathless. Just then, the heavy front door creaked open, revealing an unexpected figure who stood silhouetted in the threshold, the dim light from behind flickering ominously around them.
An elderly woman burst through the heavy oak front door, her voice rising in a tempest of what Buffy guessed was Romanian, each syllable sharp and urgent. She clutched a gnarled cane and swung it wildly in the air as if warding off unseen fiends.
Buffy held her hands up defensively. "I'm sorry," she began, her brow furrowing in concern. "I shouldn't have been a peeping Tom, but I thought maybe you could help me with—"
Before she could finish her sentence, the old woman cut her off. Her fury manifested as a barrage of small stones, their jagged edges glinting in the fading light as she hurled them at Buffy.
"Hey! That's not very nice!" Buffy exclaimed as she instinctively ducked, narrowly avoiding a sharp projectile that flew over her head.
The elderly lady continued her fervent screams, a mix of urgency and indignation. It became abundantly clear to her that she had made a mistake coming here.
"Okay, okay," Buffy responded, her voice strained but reaching for calm. She slowly raised her hands, palms out, as if to signal peace. "I'll go. I thought you might be able to help me with something, but I see now that I was wrong. I'm really sorry for bothering you."
The elderly woman halted mid-throw, her arm frozen in the air, the tautness of her expression softening for just a moment. A small pile of smooth gray stones lay scattered at her feet, remnants of her earlier attempts to shoo Buffy away. But weary of the confrontation, Buffy did not look at the old lady again. Instead, she turned on her heel, her boots crunching against the gravel path as she walked back to the cottage. The sun was dipping low behind the trees, casting long shadows on the ground. It would set soon, and darkness would shortly follow.
As Buffy made her way back to the cottage through the village, she noticed the frantic activity all around her. Villagers rushed past, their faces pale with fear as they hurried into their homes, anxiously nailing wooden planks over their windows with trembling hands.
Buffy furrowed her brow, puzzled by the chaos unfolding before her. What could invoke such terror in these people? A chilling thought raced through her mind, echoing insistently: vampires!
Could it be true that a vampire was lurking in the shadows, preying on unsuspecting villagers? As she scanned the area, she noticed the crude wooden crosses adorning many doorways and windowsills. She had seen these signs of faith before but had dismissed her suspicions, considering the country's strong religious beliefs. Perhaps Marius's earlier concerns had not been misplaced after all. It was sort of funny how she had complained to Giles just last week about needing a slaycation. Yet now that she hadn't patrolled in days, her hand was practically itching for a stake.
By the time she reached the cottage, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting darkness over the village like a suffocating shroud. Just as she reached for the doorknob, she felt a firm grip on her arm as Marius pulled her inside with urgency. He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes wide, before slamming the door shut and locking it with a decisive click. Without wasting a moment, he moved to the window, peeking through the curtain, then quickly drew it closed, plunging the room into a dim, uneasy stillness.
"I told you to be back before dark," he said, raking a hand through his tousled hair, his voice tinged with frustration.
"Sorry," she replied, a frown creasing her brow as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I sorta lost track of time."
"It is not about time," he replied, his tone softening slightly. "You must be more cautious in the future. There are… creatures lurking in the shadows that could pose a serious threat to you."
Buffy crossed her arms defiantly, her brows knitted together. "By…creatures… Do you mean demons and vampires?"
Marius spun around to face her, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief etched across his features. "How… how did you…?"
Buffy shrugged nonchalantly, her confidence unwavering. "It wasn't exactly rocket science. 'Be back before dark'? The religious symbols on the doorways? People dousing their homes with garlic? It practically shouts 'vampire' to anyone paying attention."
"Strigòi," Marius corrected with a heavy sigh, coming to terms with the fact that the charade had ended. "They have been preying on our village for months."
With a heavy heart, he turned and entered the dimly lit kitchen. Buffy followed closely behind, her mind racing with thoughts of the dangers now lurking in the village. She didn't bother asking what a strigòi was; she was sure it was just another Romanian word for vampire.
"We have been trying to track them down—the men from the village—but they are too strong," Marius admitted, his brow furrowed in frustration.
A spark of understanding ignited in Buffy's mind. "That's why you were out in the fields when you stumbled upon me and had that axe in your hands. You were hunting them down."
Marius nodded solemnly, his eyes a mix of determination and regret.
"You should have told me," Buffy urged, glancing around the dimly lit room for anything she could use as a makeshift stake.
"What are you looking for?" Marius asked, a hint of concern in his voice.
"I need something wooden," Buffy answered, her hands resting defiantly on her hips as she scanned the room, biting her lip in concentration. A sudden idea flickered in her mind. She turned on her heel and dashed back into the living room, eyes darting around until they landed on a wooden board propped against the window frame.
With a swift motion, Buffy pried the board free and brought her palm down hard against the edge of the frame. The splintering sound echoed through the room as the wood snapped in half, sending a jolt of pain shooting up her arm upon impact. "Owie," she murmured, glancing down at her stinging wrist, which already bore the mark of her impulsive action. Shaking her hand a few times, she tried to shake off the discomfort. Huh, usually that didn't hurt so much. The time travel must have affected her more than she cared to admit.
A jagged piece of wood was in her grasp, imperfect but adequate for the task. As she moved toward the door handle, Marius's voice rang out, stopping her in her tracks.
"You cannot!" Marius shouted, his voice laced with urgency as he sprinted across the dimly lit room to grab her arm. "You do not understand. They will kill you."
Buffy turned slowly, her expression a mix of frustration and determination. "Look, I appreciate your concern, but this is what I do. It's kind of my job to handle these things."
Marius's eyes were wide, pleading. "You do not know the power of these creatures! They are merciless—they will do everything in their power to kill you." His voice trembled, and he continued to press his point, his unyielding fear evident in his tone.
Buffy sighed, dismissing his warnings as overblown. Sure, she respected the danger, but she was confident that a few measly vampires were no match for her.
Then, with a trembling voice, Marius spoke again, words heavy with sorrow. "You cannot go out there… They will k-kill you… just like they k-killed my d-daughter." He brought a hand to his face, unable to contain the wave of grief washing over him as he turned his back, trying to compose himself.
Buffy's heart tightened in her chest at the mention of his daughter. "You had a daughter?"
Marius nodded, sinking onto the worn, threadbare sofa, his hands tangled in his hair. "Yes… the blonde strigòi… She murdered my daughter two weeks after they started r-raiding our v-village." His words carried the weight of loss as he stuttered, each syllable heavy with despair.
Suddenly, everything clicked for Buffy. Marius wasn't just another fearful villager; he was a grieving father who had endured unimaginable pain. That's why he knew which feminine hygiene products to buy for her—he had probably done the same for his daughter.
With a deep sense of empathy, Buffy approached him, gently resting a hand on his shoulder to offer comfort. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know," she said softly. After a moment's pause, she added with sincerity, "I won't go."
Marius lifted his gaze, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He nodded slowly, relief washing over his weary features as he wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. "Good. I am very relieved to hear that. Let the men in the village handle those horrid creatures. You are much safer indoors."
Buffy could have felt insulted by his assumption that she needed protection; after all, she wasn't just any ordinary girl—she was the Slayer. But in a time when men often took on the brave endeavors, she understood his instinct to shield her. If she were just a normal young girl and not the Slayer, she would have said the same thing, especially knowing that there were likely multiple vampires lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
That night, she lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, her mind whirling with thoughts. She couldn't bear the thought of innocent people suffering, especially if she had the power to intervene and stop it. But lurking in the back of her mind was a nagging voice warning her of the dangers of impulsiveness. Just one wrong move could change the entire outcome of the future. If she killed those vampires and it created a domino effect, there might not even be a future for her to return to.
As the long hours of the night dragged on, the dilemma swirled like a storm within her: option A or option B. Go and handle the vampire problem or stay put and do nothing. It was a conflict she had never faced before. To do her duty as the Slayer or to do nothing.
Suddenly, her reverie was broken by a haunting sound reverberating through the night—the sound of things breaking outside and people screaming. That was when she finally made her decision.
She threw the blanket aside and sprang from her bed. The makeshift stake she had carved herself lay waiting on her nightstand, its wood gleaming subtly in the dim light. She snatched it up, donning the coat Marius had given her. Crawling out of her window, she headed toward the source of the screaming. She would be lying to herself if she said she wasn't eager for a good slay.
After all, in the grand scheme of things, what were a few measly vampires compared to the vastness of the world? She was almost certain it couldn't significantly alter the future. Besides, the night was young, and she could practically feel her destiny calling, urging her forward into the fight.