Quinton watched as the slayer thrashed in her sleep.  

“She’s useless to us this way,” he said, voicing what several already knew. Julia, however, had different notions of her slayer. But then the fact that she got this slayer at all was testament to the weakening of the Council.  

“No,” she predictably contradicted. “She’s not. She’s seeing something that none of us can. What she dreams of might not be prophecy, but it’s important. Vital to the continuation of the slayer line.” 

Archibald Stanford turned to look at her. He was eighty if he was a day, but held himself still as the most knowledgeable watcher around. Plus, he had the backing of nearly 80% of the Council…and was the reason Julia was granted a slayer in the first place. 

“My dear,” he shook his head. “I fear you’re mistaken. This poor girl is caught in the throes of deep trauma. She speaks in a language long dead, from all accounts, and can barely function, let alone perform her duties.” 

“And if you murder her,” Julia hissed. “If you kill her for your own purposes, forcing the next slayer to be called, then how are we any better than Angelus?” She looked at the others assembled in the room high over the cot Faith currently twisted upon. 

They’d arrived several nights ago…five, ten, three, she didn’t know. Faith hadn’t been much help to them, more a hindrance, true, but Julia wasn’t about to leave her for demon food. The girl was her charge, her slayer…her friend. With Doyle’s help, she’d managed to get from the port in Dover to London where the Council still maintained their buildings.  

Surprised to see the place still in one piece, still standing and still a hive of activity, Julia had led her ragtag group into the lobby. Initially greeted with warmth and hospitality from the ménage of people gathered within, many from various other groups around the world the Council coordinated with in the fight against evil. Once Faith’s true state was discovered, things had…not gone well. 

Travers wanted her killed, murdered so another could be called. His loyal supporters agreed with him, naturally, and his proposal – the Council was the origin of the bureaucratic red tape – had garnered more than a little support from the rest of those present. Not enough for a full vote, but close. Archibald was her only hope to save her slayer. 

Doyle and Tara were below now, trying to soothe Faith. They met with little success, but continued to do so. They said they didn’t want her alone, but Julia suspected something else, more along romantic lines. It was nice, she supposed that even in times like these romance still blossomed. 

“If we murder her for our own purposes,” she continued, speaking to everyone, but looking at Archibald, “Then we condemn ourselves, too. Murder isn’t something the Council is about, hell, it’s in our damn motto. ‘To serve and protect the human race. To rid the planet of the scourge of demons, to see that every human has the chance to live and prosper as they ought.’ It’s the first thing we’re taught as children of the Council.” 

Her eyes swept over to Quinton who remained firm by the window. “If we kill her, we’re no better than the demons we’re sworn to eradicate.” 

“My dear,” Archibald nodded, “you are quite right. However, without an active slayer, what hope does this world have?” 

“She doesn’t want to die,” a new voice said. Turning sharply to look at the young girl Julia felt herself flush in embarrassment. Only those authorized were allowed in here, even during the best of times. Dawn clearly was not, and Julia had no idea how she’d managed to make it past the barriers and protective fields surrounding the room. 

“Dawn,” Julia rushed forward. “What are you doing here?” 

But Dawn wasn’t looking at the woman who trekked halfway across the world with her. No, her eyes were riveted on Quinton. “She doesn’t want to die, she wants to learn. She’s not whole, and knows it. Something’s tearing her apart, making her like this. You know what it is.” 

All eyes turned to Travers, who looked his normal benevolent self, expanding and tranquil. “Child, of what are you speaking? Your little friend has nightmares, that’s all.” 

“I’m not a child,” Dawn stomped her foot, belying her words. “I know what I’m talking about. You know something, your aura screams it so loudly my head hurts.” She moved towards Archibald, taking his gnarled hand in hers. “You do, too, but you forgot. It was a long time for you, wasn’t it?” 

She shared a nod with him, smiling up at the much taller man. His eyes were faded, an old blue, but he was smart. She could tell, but didn’t want Tara to know; she worried as it was, if she knew what Dawn knew, she’d be terrified for her sister. 

“She has to learn and accept. They all do. Even Buffy.” 

“Buffy?” Travers snapped, taking an unconscious step forward. “What do you know of that slayer?” 

Dawn cowered against Archibald’s leg, clutching his hand harder now. “She’s scared. But she has to accept her place, and knows it.” Dawn shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. “She wants the balance to maintain, but isn’t sure how to do it. But don’t worry,” she looked back at Julia, then Archibald. “He’ll help her.” 

“Who,” Travers demanded, “is he?” 

“Her Mate.” 

The explosion those two simple words caused scared Dawn so badly, she began to cry. The twelve year old was terrified of the big men and the taller women with their loud voices, shouting over one another. She’d only wandered up here because Tara and Doyle were with Faith. And she could see Faith from here, Dawn realized as she slipped between the arguing adults. 

Faith was sobbing in Doyle’s arms now, and Dawn wondered what it was like to be comforted like that. To have someone to hold you as you cried. Tara did that for her, she held her, whispered to her. It was nice…but Faith needed it more. Dawn watched as she clung to Doyle, small and tiny from way up here. 

“You should leave,” Archibald whispered to her as the argument continued behind them. “They don’t understand, my child, what you are and how you know. But if you’re not careful, they will.”

Turning curious brown eyes to him, she asked in an equally quiet voice, “What am I?” 

“You’ve very special,” he assured her. “You’re a rare breed of sorceresses that can read the future and the aura. And you’re going to make a real difference here.” 

“Can I see my sister?” She pointed to the room below where Tara and Doyle still held Faith. 

“Of course, let me take you down there.” Archibald took her hand and led her away. “Now tell me, Dawn, what did you mean by ‘you forgot’?” 

“You know what’s wrong with Faith,” she said as they slowly made their way down the wide steps, old marble lined with ancient wooden railings. “But she doesn’t. And she’s scared It’s going to eat her.” 

“I’ll do what I can,” he promised. “But I don’t know what’s wrong with the poor child.” 

“The demon within her is trying to remind her who she is. They forgot, you know.” 

“No,” the old man admitted with a frown. “No I didn’t know.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Travers raged in the privacy of his rooms.  

He’d refused to give them up when everything began, citing the need for the Head of the Council to have his own space for meditation and reflection at the end of the day. The truth was, he’d grown used to them. The space, the elegance. The fact that they were his by right of succession. 

That damned slayer. It was all her fault. The first one, not the one currently loony in the observation rooms. She’d failed in her duty, failed to kill than damned vampire.  

“One with a soul,” he snorted. “What does Rupert know? No vampire possesses his soul, it’s impossible. So what,” he wondered, “happened?” Looking out over his city, he sought answers he knew were thousands of miles away in a town that once sat atop a Hellmouth.  

London wasn’t the same, not anymore. It’d changed in the time since Angelus brought hell to Earth. No longer were the streets bustling with ignorant humans, no longer did the country thrive. Chaos reigned, and the people, having no idea what was happening, what their world was now, what their lives meant, had panicked and revolted against their governments because they had no answers.  

Days, weeks, months, time no longer had meaning. Later, the chaos died down – along with the population. Demons had risen up, new breeds and old, to slaughter the humans. And then the decree was put into effect, and the killings, while not completely stopping, had diminished.  Now London was one of the last bastions of freedom – such as that freedom was – in the world. 

For reasons no one understood, it had not turned into a red haze of hell, or not all the time. It had at first, and still retained that reddish haze that blanketed so much of the world. The sun occasionally shone here, the humans occasionally left the dubious safety of their homes to do more than eek out a living. Sometimes it looked like the London he remembered…sometimes. But then darkness would fall, the moon would shine blood-red, and everything changed. 

“What happened to Angelus that made him suddenly take an interest in the world again? If Rupert was right,” he thought aloud, confident in his rooms’ security, “then he was soulled over a hundred years ago. What was he doing all that time? And what made him change, now? Oh,” he waved a hand in the air as if telling someone other than himself that it was insignificant. 

“True happiness, pure love, rubbish. No,” he shook his head. “It’s something more than that. What made Angelus decide to open Acathla and turn the world into a living hell?” 

From the safety of his grand rooms in the nearly impenetrable Council Building, he looked at the pathetic world below and wondered. Several of his…comrades counseled caution when dealing with Angelus, but what did they know? They used their religion to hide behind, preaching the good fight even as they marched to their own tune, helping so-called good demons, seeing that families were reunited. 

Everyone knew of that, knew the Council were the only ones to go against that credo, but no one said a word against them. They’d grown too strong over the centuries to not command such respect. And the peons that populated the world now, those who scrimped just to get by in what Earth now was…they mattered little. 

“The only thing worth fighting for is victory.” 

And if he had to kill a dozen slayers to get one who followed his orders, then he’d do just that.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I had a dream about Buffy,” Faith confided to Doyle later.  

Tara had gone to find Dawn, but Faith knew she’d be back soon. As for Jules, Faith had no idea; the watcher had left her here, in this prison, too long ago, and Faith hadn’t seen her since. Other than betrayed, she wasn’t sure what to feel over her watcher’s disappearance. 

“The other slayer?” Doyle asked, but he knew the answer. Faith often had dreams of Buffy, and while he suspected she had then every time she closed her eyes, she only told him once in a while. “What about her, lass?” 

“She’s changed,” Faith said quietly, eyes drifted upward where she could see those still standing there, watching her. She wondered if they thought she didn’t know, couldn’t see them. (Fools! she/it/they screamed. You know nothing of us! We are the Slayer. We were created to hunt. We are the Predator. You cannot own us. You cannot control us.) 

“We all have, darlin’,” Doyle sighed. He, too, knew of those who watched them. Knew that the only reason he’d been able to enter this supposed bastion of safety was because he carried the slayer. And Faith wasn’t about to let him go. 

“No, I mean more than that.” Her eyes looked back at Doyle, softening with something he couldn’t identify and she wasn’t aware of. “Yeah, she changed. She’s harder now. Not quite so forgiving…but she’s…” Faith paused, tried to put into words something even she didn’t understand. 

“How do you even know this, Faith?” Doyle asked. “How do you know so much about a girl you’ve never met?” 

“Woman,” the slayer corrected quietly, but with a firmness Doyle wondered at. “She’s a woman. The girl in Buffy died when she was called.” Another pause, one Doyle didn’t try to fill. “I dream about her,” she admitted. “I don’t know if she knows I’m there, but I can sometimes see her.” 

(They were in the cave together. They were chained, along with hundreds of thousands of others. And The One. She was there, She was always there. It was She that screamed, though they thought it was them. The First Slayer was the one defiled, raped, killed. Molded, reborn. Alive. Together that girl/woman and the Shadow that haunted them all defied their captors and did what she/it/they were created to do.) 

“Angelus is there, too.” It was a whispered admission. “He’s watching her, but it’s not like you think,” she told him before he could say what he didd

“Why is she still there?” 

“She loves him.” 

“What?” the word was a loud shot in the quiet room. “Faith, darlin’ are you sure? Maybe you’re mistaking it for somethin’ else?” 

“She doesn’t know it yet,” and her words were tired, not from the admission, but from her own fatigue. “Would you admit, even to yourself, that you love the demonic version of the soul you adored? But she has to be strong.”  

Her eyes were drooping, but Faith struggled against it. She didn’t want to sleep, was terrified of what she’d find when she closed her eyes.  

(It was always the same. Lighted cave. Shamans. Shadow, the thing that was trying to devour her. Why? What was happening? What were they doing?) 

(They’re one, her voice said, and Faith knew who it was. Buffy, her sister slayer. But did she realize she spoke to her, or was it something else? They want us to remember.) 

“Remember?” Faith asked aloud, confused. “Remember what?” 

“Faith?” Doyle’s voice was concerned, and he turned her to face him. “What did you say?” 

Looking at him, she kissed him softly, an out of character gesture for her, but she was too tired, too drained for anything else. “I’m tired, Doyle,” she whispered. “Hold me so It doesn’t get me?” 

“I’ll try, Faith. I really will.” But she was asleep before he finished his promise. How, he wondered, would holding her keep the monsters at bay? 

(‘You have to learn,’ Buffy said. ‘You have to learn our past.’ ‘You haven’t accepted it,’ Faith countered. ‘You won’t accept it. You don’t understand it.’ ‘No, but I’m not the slayer. You are.’)
~~~~~~~~~~
“An assassin?”  

It was said in the quiet of the room, something no one really wanted to repeat. They all gathered around the great table, the one originally belonging to Arthur and his Knights. Magickally blessed my Merlin himself, and said to hold all the power of good over evil. So far, that had been a nice myth, but no one had ever seen the effects of it.  

(Balance, Faith laughed. You’re an idiot if you think we can shake the balance.) 

“Yes,” Quinton nodded. “By killing Angelus, the world will revert to the way it was. By killing the traitorous slayer, Faith will be the only one, and she can take over the cleanup.” 

“Why do you believe this?” A priestess asked, standing tall and regal in her flowing white gowns. “Why do you believe the world will revert, and what does it matter if there are two slayers rather than one?” 

“With Angelus’ death, the world will no longer have its power center. Without that, it will once more become what it was. Ours.” Quinton stood, pacing around the room, his room, like a professor with a group of first year students. “As for Ms. Summers, she’s an anomaly. One that should be eliminated before serious damage can be wrought to the Slayer line.” 

“And if it doesn’t?” another asked, his Russian accent heavy with their belief in Fate. Skeptical bastard. “If the world doesn’t revert, if this was supposed to be the way things were? What if Ms. Summers was meant to travel this path? By interfering, we could be destroying all we hope to salvage. And if Angelus’ world does not collapse, then what?” 

“Then we’re no worse off,” one of Quinton allies agreed, his gruff Spanish accent thick in the air. “But the so-called god will be deposed, and the demon scum will no longer have anyone to rally behind.” 

“And if he’s unkillable?”

Quinton scoffed at that. “He’s a vampire. They’re all killable.” 

“No,” a tall thin man stood, his limbs shaking from age and illness, his pale gray eyes old and heavy with knowledge he’d rather not have. James Pagino had seen too much, learned too much, and done too much. All he wanted was to rest in his old age. Fate, he glanced at Mikhail, his Russian counterpart, had other ideas. 

“He’s more than that. He’s a god. Immortal, invincible.” James shook his head. “And if Ms. Summers is truly his goddess, either through her own devices, or manipulation on the demon’s behalf, then she is as well. You can’t kill a god. Everyone here,” he took a long moment to look at the large assembled group, “knows that.” 

“It’s worth a try,” Quinton argued. 

And in the end, he got his way. Oh, it’d take a while to find one, see to his additional training, covertly transport him from London to California, and infiltrate the palace, but it was set into motion. Quinton wasn’t aware, however, of the side bets that took place on the odds of his chosen assassin’s failure. No one truly believed the Assassin would succeed.
~~~~~~~~~~
Penn looked around the landscape. 

“Nothing like a bit o’ conformity, is there,” he muttered to himself. For days, possibly weeks, he traveled across what was once the United States, dodging vigilante groups, some kind of weird demons who wanted to snack on him, and boring enclaves of humans who were lost, anarchical, and starving. 

“Angelus, man,” he muttered, spying the sprawling palace in the distance, “what did you do?” 

Continuing his journey, Penn thought about everything they’d do once he made it to the palace proper. The kills they’d have, the women. The blood and the wine. It’d be just like old times. Were Spike and Drusilla there, too? He’d heard a vague rumor that the gorgeous vampiress was Angelus’ right-hand now, but hadn’t been able to confirm that tidbit.

But what of Spike? And Darla? Where were they?  

“So many questions,” he sighed, still moving. “So much time.” 

Within a day, or however humans measured time anymore, he’d be in Angelus’ castle. And then the real fun could begin. And maybe Angelus would let him play with the god’s pet slayer. Now that would be fun. 

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