by Nancy Holder
“You can’t complain,” The First argued. “You tricked that girl. She followed you.”
He shrugged. “I only told her the truth,” he shot back. “And as for the following . . .”
He tucked his knife back in his belt.
“There’ll be others.”
* * *
The core group was in Buffy’s room, and they were holding a big power pow-wow. Buffy paced in front of Xander, Willow, Spike, Giles and Faith, and her mind was brimming with plans.
“Start arming the girls,” she said. “I want to be ready to move when we find him.”
Willow was confused. “We don’t even know where we’re going.”
“That’s why I figured we’d do a little recon first, see what we can find out,” Buffy said. She asked Faith, “You up for it?”
Faith shrugged: compliance but no obedience. “Point me where you want me.”
Giles was also confused. “But are you certain this is the best course of action? You don’t even know what this man has of yours, if he in fact has anything.”
Buffy replied, “It could be a girl. A Potential trying to get to us.”
“It could be a stapler,” Giles rejoined.
She set her jaw and raised her chin, saying, “I’m going in, anyway.”
“With the girls?” Giles asked. “Most of them have yet to be in the field at all, let alone in a life-or-death situation.”
“Then it’s time we test ’em. We’ll just take the ones who’ve been with us the longest. The rest can stay here.”
Spike likewise looked less than enthusiastic. “Could be that’s what he wants you to do. Ol’ bait and switch.”
Nodding, Willow said, “He lures us away, then kills all the girls we leave behind.”
“I know,” Buffy said to Willow. “That’s why I want you to stay with them.”
Willow was still not following.
Buffy explained, “You’re my most powerful weapon, Will. You can keep these girls safe if something happens.”
Xander shook his head, so not loving this plan. “Unknown man breezes into tow, says he has something of yours . . . Buffy, this thing’s got ‘trap’ written all over it.”
Buffy glossed over that. “He won’t be expecting a full attack. Not this soon. That’s why we have to move.”
“We know nothing about this man!” Giles insisted. “We cannot go into battle without preparation. We need time.”
“Giles,” Buffy said, “we don’t have time. And you’re not going into battle. I need you to stay behind with the others.” She paused, and could not help herself from adding, “Help the girls who still need a teacher.”
Her barb hit home, and Giles shut his mouth.
Tightly.
* * *
Recon a go. Faith was nothing if not good.
Buffy was with her, and they were following a Bringer, who was darting through the darkness in a brisk and furtive way.
“No eyes,” Faith mused, “but look at him go. He got sonar or something?”
“Or something, I guess,” Buffy said. “They’re pretty good when they attack.
“They say your other senses get better,” Faith said, as they both watched the buy. “Maybe all blind people are smokin’ in a knife fight.” As Buffy gave her a look, Faith said, “Not saying it’s likely.” She gestured to their robed target. “They just roam free ’round town?”
Buffy watched the Bringer. “Well, normally they show up out of nowhere and either stab or get stabbed and then run off.” She paused and added, not all that happily, “This guys seems like he wants to be found.”
“Lends weight to that whole ‘it’s a trap’ theory,” Faith observed.
“I’m through waiting around for people to attack us,” Buffy insisted.
“Hey, I’m with you,” Faith told her. “Drop me in the hornet’s next. What the hell.”
Buffy nodded, focused on the Bringer.
Faith took a shot at connecting.
“You’ve got a rough sitch here, trying to turn a bunch of little girls into an army.”
Buffy didn’t like the description at all. She said angrily, “They’re Potential Slayers. Just like we were.”
“Right,” Faith said. “Maybe they’ll do as good as us.”
Buffy shot a glance at Faith, unclear if she was being sarcastic. She said, “They’re getting better.”
“I’ll work with ’em,” Faith offered. “Some of them seem real eager. Fashion disasters, yeah, but ready to fight.”
Buffy let that go by. She let a few more seconds go by. Then she asked the question she had wanted to ask Faith ever since she showed.
“Why’d you come back?”
“Willow said you needed me. Didn’t give it a lot of thought. Do you . . .” She looked hard at the other Slayer. “Am I getting that you want me to be not here?”
Startled, Buffy blurted, “That’s not what I meant. I’m . . . glad you’re here. It’s good.” She sucked it up. “Thank you.”
“No prob. You know me,” Faith said lightly. “I’m all about the good deeds.”
“Willow told me you helped out Angel,” Buffy said.
“Yeah.” She made less of a deal out it. “He says, ‘Hey.’ ”
“Really?” Buffy asked warmly.
“Sure.” Faith gave her a quick smile.
Buffy took yet another moment, then gathered up herself and asked, “How is he?”
“Better,” Faith said. “Had to do this whole magical mind walk with him.”
“You were . . . in Angel’s mind.” Buffy sounded annoyed, and Faith couldn’t help it. She liked that.
“Yeah. Very weird. We got close,” she spun. “Saw all sorts of heavy stuff from his past. Tripped me out.”
“Uh-huh,” Buffy said.
“That whole vampire-with-a-soul tip, interesting, isn’t it? I mean, the darkness and the light. I can see it in Spike.”
“So . . . how much did you and Spike . . . ?”
It was almost painful, how easy it was.
“Buffy,” Faith began, then nodded toward the Bringer up ahead.
Old no-eyes was gliding into a clearing, heading toward an old building, stone and vine-covered. Dark wood abounded; there were shadows, and it was quiet.
Abandoned, but not empty.
The Bringer went straight for a heavy wooden door, opened it, and went inside. He started down some stairs . . . and then the Slayers’ view was cut off as the door slammed shut.
“What is this place?” Faith asked.
“Look.” Buffy gestured. “There’s more of them.”
Bringers from the north of them, Bringers from the west. they walked out of the woods, maybe four of them, all headed for Door #1.
“Looks like we found our hornet’s nest,” Faith murmured.
Buffy concurred. “Let’s go get the cavalry,” she said.
* * *
Battle preparations.
In the living room, Dawn and Xander were helping the Potentials check their weapons and put on protective gear as the girls were going through their moves. Andrew was . . . there also.
Xander wanted very badly for there to be a noble sort of Spartacus air to the proceedings, but truth was, it felt more like Helm’s Deep.
But they won at Helm’s Deep, he reminded himself. The Elves and the Walking Trees helped out. I’m sure we’ve got some Walking Trees around here somewhere.
“Now, remember,” he instructed, using Molly as his demonstration aid, “we’re looking for killing blows only, people, so chest and throat if there’re vampires. Stomach, chest, and face if it’s a Bringer.”
Rona asked, “What if it’s a something else?”
Xander nodded. “Could happen, something otherworldly, and here’s a handy rule: Don’t waste your time with flashy tentacles just ’cause they’re waving about trying to get attention. Go for the center—brain, heart, eyes. Everything’s got eyes.”
“Except the Bringers,” Dawn piped up.<
br />
“Except the Bringers,” Xander conceded.
Molly looked unhappy. “I don’t want there to be tentacles. I’m not good with squishy.”
Kennedy squared her shoulders and declared, “I don’t care if it’s Godzilla, I want to get in this thing.”
Andrew raised a hand. “Godzilla’s mostly Tokyo based, so he’s probably a no-show.”
“Besides, Matthew Broderick can kill Godzilla, so how tough can he be?” Amanda went on.
With controlled fury, Andrew appealed for support to his secret brother in geekdom. Xander said, “Matthew Broderick never killed Godzilla. He killed a big dumb lizard that was not the real Godzilla.”
“Right, right,” Amanda jibed, “the big slow guy in the suit was cooler.”
“I can’t hear this,” Andrew moaned, with all the passion of one who agreed with the poster on the Internet Movie Data Base who said, in effect, that the film-makers’ contempt for Godzilla fans was obvious.
“She’s young, bro,” Xander reminded him. “She doesn’t understand.”
Rona shook her head as she looked up from her weaponry and her outfitry. “You people are even crazier than her.”
“Than who?” Xander asked.
“Buffy, man. Taking us right into the bad guy’s lair.”
“Well,” Xander began, “that’s, generally speaking, where you find the bad guy. And I don’t think you came here to fight plaque.”
“I came here for protection,” Rona informed him.
Xander argued, “Well, you signed on to fight with—”
“I know,” Rona said, “but this plan is trouble. Buffy doesn’t care how many of us she—”
Xander cut her dead. “Let me tell you something about Buffy. In fact . . .” he gazed around the room “. . . everybody should listen to this.
“I’ve been through more battles with Buffy than you all can imagine. She’s stopped anything that’s ever come against her.”
He was unaware that Buffy and Faith and come into the house, and were silently listening.
“She’s laid down her life—literally—to protect the people around her. This girl died, two times, and she’s still standing.
“You’re scared, that’s smart. You got questions, you should ask.”
He looked at them all again, very serious, very clear.
“But you doubt her motives, you think Buffy is about the kill, then you take the little bus to battle. I’ve seen her heart . . . this time not literally . . . and I’ll tell you right now: she cares more about your lives than you will ever know. You have to trust her.
“She’s earned it.”
The room was pin-drop silent. Andrew fought not to cry; Dawn beamed at Xander.
Buffy was moved nearly to tears herself, while Faith said jovially, “Damn! I had no idea you were that cool!”
Everyone was startled to see them.
“Well, you always were a little slow,” Buffy pointed out.
“I get that now,” Faith said contritely.
But Buffy’s gaze was for Xander, her gratitude boundless. Then she stepped into the room, and put her martial aspect back on.
“All right, people,” she said. “Let’s saddle up.”
* * *
Buffy’s army approached the target: the strange vine-covered building in the clearing, which was as silent as the grave.
Which, Buffy knew, were rarely truly silent . . .
She signaled for them to wait. Faith, Spike, Xander, Kennedy, Rona, Molly, Amanda and five others—take time to learn their names—froze—armed, focused, ready for anything.
Buffy turned to Xander and Faith.
“Set up a perimeter,” she told them. “Guard the door. I don’t want anything getting in behind us.”
She nodded to Spike. “My group will go in first, and check the place out.”
Then to Xander and Faith: “You guys are our safety net. If this thing is a trap, we give the signal and you come in, guns blazing after us.”
“What’s the signal?” Xander asked.
“I’m thinking lots and lots of yelling.”
Xander and Faith nodded.
“Got it,” Xander said.
Buffy gestured to Spike and her squadron of Potentials. “Shall we?”
The seven of them crept downstairs into the vast main cellar of the building. It was a vineyard, Buffy realized, or had been. The cavernous room was filled with wine barrels and large casks. It smelled of must and wine. It was cold.
They were sharp, ready. Moving in formation, they spread out, guarding each other’s backs.
This is a group of soldiers, Buffy thought, moved. Not scared little girls.
“What is this place?” Molly asked.
“It’s like an old vineyard or something,” Buffy answered, as they all scanned the area for intruders.
“An evil vineyard, huh?” Kennedy said dryly.
Spike nodded. “Like Falcon Crest . . .”
“Stay alert,” Buffy commanded them. “Bringers are here somewhere. We just need to find where they went . . .”
“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Spike said loudly.
A phalanx of Bringers stepped forward into the light from the dark archways around the room. They were armed—knives, staffs—and they had the group surrounded.
As they had been trained, the Potentials circled in the middle of the room as the Bringers pressed forward . . . closing in on them.
Buffy tried to steady them. “Cover each other’s backs,” she reminded them. “Let them come to us.”
And they did.
The Bringers attacked, bringing chaos and destruction with them.
But these girls were warriors now, and their pledge was to bring chaos to its knees; as Buffy and Spike traded rapid-fire blows with their Bringers, Molly caught an attacking Bringer’s wrists and headbutted him. Rona kicked another one in the face; Kennedy blasted one with an uppercut.
All the girls fought, but the Bringers were skilled, too. One swept Kennedy’s legs, and she hit the ground hard. He leaped on her, knife raised for the kill, when Molly caught his hand, spun him around, and cracked elbows with him in the face, dropping him.
Buffy and Spike finished off their opponents with kicks and punches, working in concert; then moved to help with the others. Spike took on Rona’s attacker and dropped her, hard.
Molly, Kennedy, and two more fought and kicked, spun, and slammed their fists and their elbows and their feet into the minions of The First. The coppery scent of blood filled the room; screams and grunts bounced off the walls and the casks, silent sentries to the mayhem swarming and swirling all around them. Headswimming frenzy, alarming strength and power and the will to destroy; to survive, to maim and end.
The precious Potentials, heiresses to Buffy’s mantel, took on the Bringers as if their lives were part of their arsenals; their weapons were their courage and their skill. They charged with warriors’ hearts, like Willow’s beloved Amazons.
They began to knock the Bringers back.
Buffy stepped up onto one of the barrels and leaped off, jump kicking a Bringer in the face, sending him flying. He hit the ground, struggled to right himself . . . and started backing away.
His brothers joined him, slinking back into the shadows like so much vermin, eager to be gone, to be safe, to regroup.
Buffy and her army breathed hard, looking each other over as they regrouped and advanced forward.
From the darkness just ahead of her, Buffy heard the soft clicking of boots on concrete.
Young man in a clerical collar . . . had to be Caleb. He was smiling evilly, and Buffy was reminded slightly of the Mayor. A chill washed over her, but she maintained her concentration.
“Well now,” he began easily, “you girls are just burning with righteousness, aren’t you? Problem is, you think you’re blazing like suns, when really you’re matchsticks in the face of darkness.”
He walked toward Buffy, as calm as he could be.
“You havi
ng fun? Hope my boys haven’t worn you out too much. Need you fit for when I . . . purify you.”
“Save the sermon, padre,” Buffy snapped. “I heard you had something of mine.”
He smiled brilliantly, holding his hands up, gesturing to the Potentials.
“Well, I do now,” he said, obviously amused. “You liked my little message, did you?”
Buffy stood stone-faced.
“You know, I ruined a perfectly good knife all that girl. Got her soiled blood all over the place. I may need a new truck.”
She felt a ripple of fear run through the girls. All she could do now was show them how to do this.
“So you’re the Slayer,” he said, approaching her stealthily, his entire demeanor screaming that he was not one bit afraid of her. That was not a good thing, not at all.
“The Slayer. The strongest and fastest and most aflame with that most precious invention of all mankind the notion of goodness. The Slayer must indeed be powerful.”
Without warning, he rocketed his fist at her face and punched the holy living hell out of her, blasting her up into the air and sending her sailing over the wine barrels across the room. She slammed into the back wall and hit the ground like a body thrown off the Empire State Building.
She lay unconscious.
Caleb looked calmly at the shocked faces of Spike and the Potentials: Our leader has been taken out with just one punch.
“So,” Caleb drawled, “what else you got?”
He began to laugh.
Spike morphed into vampface. With a roar he attacked, launching himself at Caleb. Caleb met his attack head-on, blocking Spike’s attack with glee. His movements were effortless, as if he were playing fair with lesser creatures.
He headbutted Spike and knocked the vampire back. Spike was dazed. Then Caleb stepped forward and punched Spike in the midsection, launching him straight back across the room. Spike’s body crashed through one of the wine barrels, sending a deluge of red wine gushing like a crimson flood of blood.
Spike lay motionless in the wash.
Caleb laughed as he surveyed the room, holding out his arms and saying, “Well, c’mon boys, what are you waiting for? Let’s show these ladies a proper time!”
The Bringers charged back out of the darkness, attacking the Potentials with newfound vigor. The girls were rattled, overwhelmed by what they had just seen. They were no longer the fine-tuned machine.