Disclaimer: Joss & Co. owns all these people, demons, creatures, tax collectors, etc. I'm only playing with them.

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SOMEWHERE IN AMERICA

The time had come, as it had been foreseen. The six highest representatives of the Concillium Nocens stood in a carefully arranged formation and watched as the scrying pool revealed the Slayer's last battle to Luther, Geoffrey's most trusted mage. The thin-featured man was known for his calm impassive manner, even when he performed the most heinous and vile acts. Other magick users were chanting, drawing as much dark energy as would be needed for the ritual. There were murmurs of dismay as the Luther described Glory's apparent defeat. Geoffrey silenced them all with a glare and a wave of his hand.

"Worry not. The hellgoddess is of no consequence. The Slayer will fall."

"And the Dark Slayer will rise," chanted the gathering, the response to an unholy prayer. Geoffrey nodded approvingly.

"Bring the girl forth." Hortensia and Norris had not left the girl's side since securing her in Australia. They entered the chamber and brought Sharonda forth. Her head was lowered in a parody of prayer as she knelt before them, clothed in a blood red shift which fell loosely around her, pooling around her in a circular shape on the floor. Geoffrey allowed himself the luxury of a cold smile. The ceremonial garment had no discernible effect on what was to come, but he knew of the value of good theatrics in a ritual.

Geoffrey allowed his attention to wander to where his son was chained. Aldric sagged against his chains, barely conscious. Having Aldric present at this moment was something of a risk, but he had been bound with dark magicks and his energies drained, nearly to the point of death. Geoffrey had been assured by his own mages Aldric could do nothing at this point to stop him; his own desire to have the boy witness his triumph overrode the small nagging doubt. The two men locked gazes for a moment, Aldric dropping his eyes first. Geoffrey savored that small victory as an aperitif for the larger one to come.

"The sister bleeds," Luther announced, and excitement began to build within the assembly as the chanting of the mages grew even louder. "The rifts are growing between the dimensions...the Slayer has stopped the sister from sacrificing herself...."

Energy seemed to build around Sharonda, and Geoffrey raised his fist, sensing the success that was at hand. The mages were now shouting their chants, and a strong wind blew through the chamber, nearly knocking Geoffrey to his knees. Unnoticed by all, Aldric's eyes focused and his lips began to move. It was not a spell, merely a prayer, but it was all he could manage under the circumstances.

"She's jumping...the Slayer falls..." Luther's voice, unchanged in volume or pitch, somehow still carried over the din. All felt the crackle of magickal energy surrounding them.

"And the Dark Slayer rises," screamed the gathered Watchers. Sharonda lifted her arms, feeling something pass through her.

"The Slayer is dead." The noise abated all at once, leaving the chamber quiet except for the whispers of those present. Geoffrey helped Sharonda to her feet, and Luther left his place at the scrying pool and joined them. He ignored Geoffrey, staring at Sharonda thoughtfully.

"Well?" Geoffrey asked impatiently. Luther shook his head.

"She is not a Slayer." There was a collective gasp from the assembly that was quite comical, unless you were Geoffrey. He glared at them and silence was immediately restored.

"That's impossible. She must be the Slayer. The ritual..." Geoffrey growled. Luther's expression did not change as he turned to face his angry leader.

"The ritual worked as it should. The Slayer essence was here."

"I felt it...I felt it pass through me," Sharonda whispered miserably.

"How could this have failed?" Geoffrey seethed.

"I know not," Luther answered evenly. Anticipating the next question he moved back to his position at the scrying pool.

"Then another has been called. We must locate her! Luther, who has been called?" Geoffrey asked, thinking fast. Their plan could still work if they could get to the Slayer in time. Luther looked up, his implacable features showing surprise for the first time.

"No one."

"What?"

"No new Slayer has been called."

"Perhaps it is because Buffy Summers had already died once before." One of Luther's assistants, emboldened by his master's conversational tone, saw fit to speak aloud. Geoffrey favored him with a thin smile.

"Perhaps you're right." Geoffrey looked at Luther, who raised his hand. The other mages screamed as one as they were instantly reduced to ashes. They had, after all, failed. And they were easy enough to replace, unlike Luther himself. Geoffrey would have liked to make an example of the man, but he was still needed the mage. And he'd never admit it, not even to himself, but he feared Luther. The fear was bothersome, but a small price to pay for such a talented wizard. He turned to Sharonda. The girl looked disappointed, but the sudden deaths of the others seemed to have had a cheering effect. He favored her with a smile. She would be a fine Slayer. He moved confidently to Luther's side. Their efforts had not been deterred, merely delayed. He must impress that upon the others.

"The Slayer Faith is confined in California, is she not?" He spoke more loudly than necessary, as he wanted the Council to be impressed with the answers.

"She is," Luther responded. Geoffrey turned to the others.

"The Slayer will fall."

"And the Dark Slayer will rise."

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SOMEWHERE IN SUNNYDALE, THREE MONTHS LATER

After three months his feet knew their own way there. They knew this path better than they knew the streets of London he'd grown up in. Better than he knew his own way home, even better than they had known their way to the tree beneath her window during that time he'd been so obsessed and crazy. Standing there for hours waiting for a glimpse of her light, burning his heart brighter than the sun. Maybe not so crazy after all. He'd give anything...but that light had died. So now his feet walked this path, towards the willow trees, towards the cold gray slab that marked her place. She wouldn't be rising from this earth, but he still needed to see her. To talk to her. Never to say goodbye to her.

He stood staring at her name, smoking a cigarette. Fresh flowers. One of the Scoobies had been there, probably Giles or Anya. The flowers were too artfully arranged for it to have been Willow or Xander, and Dawn almost never came. She said it was too hard. Spike couldn't understand that, really. What could be hard about seeing Buffy? He gave her a little half-smile and cleared his throat.

"Hello again, Slayer. Hope I'm not disturbing your rest," he began, his voice containing a hint of his old sarcastic edge, "but I thought you might like an update on what's happening with your beloved Scoobies. And the nibblet. She's not doing so hot, pet. Grades've been slippin' still. I told her you wouldn't be havin' that, and she promised she'd buckle down. Don't think that's gonna do it though. Thought you might want to be havin' a talk with her." He paused, cocking his head for her reply, then glowering at the grave. He raised his voice angrily, gesturing with the lit cigarette. "Well, if you can't make her, than nobody can, can they? You're her bleedin family, I'm just...whatever it is I am." The last came out as a miserable whisper. The cigarette dropped from his trembling fingers. He fell to his knees, covering his face with his hands.

"I don't know what I am anymore, pet. Why I'm still here. I don't have to stay, you know...even with the chip, I can get by. The great poof's been doing it for years, after all. And I'm twice the vampire that he ever-"

"Spike." He was on his feet in an instant, distressed that his moment of weakness had been witnessed by...

"Angel." The two vampires considered each other for a long moment. Angel was shocked at the changes in Spike. The blonde vampire was withdrawn, almost tentative, where he had once been cocky and sardonic. Of course, focusing all of his attention on observing Spike's manner meant that he could avoid looking at Buffy's grave for a little while longer. He cleared his throat awkwardly, uncertain how to begin.

"How are things?" Spike laughed hollowly.

"Never better. Look around you, mate. I've bagged number three. Wish I were getting the credit, I'd be a bleedin' legend. Well, more of a legend." Despite himself, Angel had followed the wave of Spike's hand towards the headstone. He drew a shaky breath and carried on. There would be time for reflection here once he had done what he came here to do.

"Willow told me what happened. You're not-"

"Responsible?" Spike asked bitterly. "I think we both know better than that."

"Because of what happened in L.A.? You still think you were supposed to save Joyce?" Spike didn't respond immediately. When he did it was in a quiet mournful voice, one that Angel had never heard coming from Spike before.

"I guess we'll never know, will we?"

"You want to know what I know? I'll tell you what I know. Buffy...Buffy's gone. And we're still here. And you need to be with your friends right now-"

"My friends. You mean Buffy's friends. They tolerated me because Buffy didn't give them a choice," Spike said angrily. "Now she's gone and they don't want me around anymore. You don't know what it's like!"

"What are you talking about?" Angel yelled back. "Of course, I know what it's like! You think they ever accepted me? You think if it wasn't for Buffy I'd have been allowed anywhere near, soul or no soul?" Spike looked down, and Angel silently berated himself. This was not helping the situation. "We're vampires, we'll always be outsiders, Spike. But with Buffy gone, the situation here in Sunnydale is getting out of hand. You've got to help."

"I help," Spike answered defensively.

"You've got to lead. You're the only one strong enough."

"Giles is the leader. The others won't be looking to me any way other than nasty. You know that." Angel shook his head; he would not be put off.

"Giles has the knowledge, but you have the strength. You can lead them into the battles to come." Spike shrugged in response. At that moment he looked like a lost child to Angel; it was not lost to the older vampire that indeed he was just that.

"Willow's the one leading in the fights. She's zapping vamps with her witchy zapping dusting powers. Hardly ever get to enjoy the violence anymore."

"Who do you think asked me to talk to you?" Spike's eyes widened in shock. "They all need you. Not all of them are willing to admit it, Spike, but they do care about you. Dawn most of all."

"But they didn't ask you to have me lead them, did they?" Angel's mouth opened and closed as he struggled with the answer. Spike took out another cigarette and lit it, looking away from Angel and back to Buffy's grave. Angel had no idea what he was thinking.

"Fine. Okay. It was my idea. But I don't think you'll find resistance. Not a lot, anyway. Willow sounded really...tired. She doesn't want to lead, Spike. She's doing it because there isn't anyone else."

"That's what you think," Spike said wearily. Angel thought he heard the hint of a question, but he couldn't be sure. Still he decided to press the advantage.

"Yes, that's exactly what I think. But it's your call. I'm going back to L.A. tomorrow night. If you don't want to stay in Sunnydale, come back with me." Spike raised his eyebrows, and Angel smiled faintly. "Not to stay, just offering a ride. Once we get there, go anywhere you want to go." Spike took a long drag off of his cigarette, then dropped it, stomping it out. He pivoted on his heels and turned away from Angel and the gravesite, heading back the way he'd come. "Spike!" Angel called after him, and he shouted his reply back without turning around.

"Got to think about it." Angel watched him until he was gone, then turned back to the gravesite.

"I've done all I can, Buffy. I wish it was more." There was a warm breeze rustling the branches of the nearby willow trees, and Angel decided to see it as his love's reply.

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DESTINY, MAINE

Lydia was being watched, but she forced herself to remain relaxed. She felt that her unseen observers were human, and were not necessarily of bad intent. She was a stranger in a town obviously unaccustomed to visitors; she had seen only one hotel and one B&B. Peculiar, as the Maine foliage was in full color and particularly breathtaking in this area. But the moment she had driven into the town she had gotten an uneasy feeling. There was something unpleasant about being here that made her feel mildly nauseous. Despite the picturesque location, Destiny looked totally deserted and felt distinctly unwelcoming. If she had been a regular tourist, she would certainly have simply driven on to one of its more pleasant neighboring towns. But Lydia was anything but a regular tourist.

She took out the postcard yet again, and looked at it for the fiftieth time that morning. It was apparent to her even before she left London that she might need some help to find her brother Aldric, and going to the Watchers' Council was definitely out. Unlike her brother, she had few contacts outside the Council, and the ones that she did have were friends of her father's, thus rendering them unusable. She knew of only one person in the States that might be able to help her, and had risked capture to return to her flat in London and secure the last postcard she had gotten. It was five years old and had no return address, but it had been postmarked Destiny, Maine. When the trail she was following had grown cold and no amount of spells gave her any further leads, she came here to seek out her last hope. Tricia Lorenzo.

Trish. Her best friend since childhood. They had had much in common. Both were daughters in Council families of good standing, lost in the shadows of talented older brothers. They were completely inseparable until they had turned fifteen and had their first encounter with Koy Lorenzo. Although the Watchers' Council was by and large an aristocratic bunch, they did seek out students from around the globe who had talents that would make them excellent Watchers. Koy Lorenzo was a brash American, an orphaned New Yorker with a chip on his shoulder. Gifted but rebellious, it was clear from the get-go that he would never play by the Council rules. In fact, Lydia had often wondered what had possessed the Council to bring such a free-thinker into their environment in the first place. At the end of his second year, Koy suddenly dropped out, planning to return to America. By then he and Trish had fallen hopelessly in love. Lydia had had mixed feelings about their relationship. Wanting Trish to be happy, she had helped facilitate their secret meetings, covering for her friend's whereabouts on numerous occasions. But she couldn't help feeling jealous of Koy. It seemed to young Lydia that he had taken her friend away just when she needed her most. Trish was no longer there to help her sort out her feelings about Alan Travers, increasing the ease with which he'd manipulated her. When Koy left surreptitiously for the States, Trish went with him. Lydia had rarely heard from her friend since. Only the occasional postcard to say they were fine and happy. At first they came from major cities: New York, Chicago, Atlanta, San Francisco. Then there were fewer messages, from odder places, finally this place, the oddest of all. Despite the brevity of the messages, Trish had never expressed any regrets. Lydia hoped that the bond of friendship forged so many years ago would be strong enough now.

Steeling her nerves she wandered into the hotel, the only place in town that looked even remotely welcoming. A miniscule sign had read VACANCY, so she supposed they would at least have to speak to her. The lobby was as deserted as she had expected it would be, but for all its austerity it was clean, a clear sign of life. She rang the bell and waited, a pleasant smile finding its way to her face. She heard the sounds of shuffling feet, and eventually an elderly man emerged from the back. He froze as he entered the room. Lydia was bewildered; this man was clearly terrified of her.

"I know who you are," the stranger said. "Leave this place now, before it's too late!"

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To Be Continued...